


Blood and Thunder

by sausepark (hernameisari)



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stranger Things Fusion, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Inspired by Stranger Things (TV 2016), M/M, Mystery, Suspense, a brief amount of one-sided clyde/red, a shit ton of foreshadowing that i might forget, lots of cussing cuz this is south park, red is craig's cousin just because, they are 14 in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hernameisari/pseuds/sausepark
Summary: For someone who claims he doesn't care about anything but his guinea pig, Craig Tucker has a lot of troubles on his mind lately. Including:1. A kid with wild, blonde hair and electrokinesis powers hiding in his basement2. A monster lurking in the outskirts of South Park(Stranger Things AU)





	1. October 31, 1987

**Author's Note:**

> I have never lived in the US and I don't know how exactly things worked there in the 80s so please bear with me. And also you don't have to have watched the TV show to understand the story i just used the main premise of it.

Craig swore that he would cut a bitch if his sister was not ready in the next ten minutes.

He dumped his empty sack used to get candy on the couch and threw himself next to it, taking off his home-made helmet to breathe in some fresh air. Apart from the helmet, there really was not anything distinguishing he was wearing that would make him stand out on Halloween night. He didn’t own any black coats so he cut holes in a trash bag to wear it like a cape, and he was wearing his white undershirt and worn-out sneakers. He was bound to be the lamest Darth Vader on the streets tonight, because he did not really give a shit.

They had always planned group costumes - not that Craig was really into that, but he just couldn’t stand and watch his gang being ridiculed by Stan’s when they have different but equally-lame group costumes every year since they were eight years old. They did a _Back To The Future_ group costume last year but everyone wanted to be Marty McFly, obviously, so they ended up all dressing up as Marty but in three different attires. The same argument did not occur this year, however, because Clyde beat everyone’s high scores at the Star Wars arcade game and got to assign everyone’s outfits; mainly so that no one would compete for his favorite character.

But what they had not expected was Craig’s parents’ plan to meet with some friends from another state and spend the night in Denver, thus leaving the responsibility of chaperoning Tricia during trick-or-treating to Craig and his friends. He also had to bring her over to a friend’s home for a sleepover during their parentless weekend. Being almost twelve and too smart-mouthed for her own good, she managed to talk her way into buying a Princess Leia costume so she could match Craig and his friends just to spite him.

His parents have left a little over half an hour ago and he was sitting by himself in the living room, waiting for Tricia to get ready so they could head over to Clyde’s house as planned. His mother left them with abundance of candy and chocolate bars he didn't even like as compensation, along with a slip of paper with his uncle Skeeter's number written on it in case there is an emergency. But he knew that if anything did happen, Skeeter would be too busy entertaining his guests to pick up the phone.

After another ten minutes' wait he heard his sister’s footsteps coming running down the stairs. “Let’s go, Creggo! Get up!” she yelled, the plastic pumpkin basket in her hand hitting the staircase railing with a loud _clink_. Her ginger-blonde hair was too short to be braided into buns, so she simply tucked her pigtails into hairnets and tied them up. “It’s seven already!”

“Says the person who just spent twenty minutes looking at the mirror,” Craig said, and almost immediate got hit by Tricia’s basket square on the elbow.

“Says the person wearing a trash bag,” she sneered.

“Says the person wearing a goodwill turtleneck on top of an old bathrobe.”

“Shut up! I bet Clyde is gonna wear a bathrobe, too.”

“No, he isn’t,” Craig retorted.

“How would you know?”

“Because I made the costume with him. He’s wearing a shirt. Like a normal person.”

“Why didn’t you help make _me_ a costume?” Tricia whined. “I’m your sister!”

“Dunno,” Craig said with a tad of sarcasm. “Probably has something to do with you calling me ‘Creggo’.”

Tricia huffed and rolled her eyes at him. He gave her the finger and picked up the sack from the couch, swinging it across his shoulder so at least he could look slightly cooler while wearing such a dumb costume.

Once they had left the house he put on his homemade Darth Vader helmet again, praying nobody would notice the infamously uncaring Craig Tucker was amongst the high-spirited trick-or-treaters. The night was starting to get cold and he instantly regretted to only have worn a trash bag on top of his T-shirt like a raincoat. The siblings made their way to the next block within thirty-seconds’ walk. Upon arriving the Donovans’ residence, Craig rang the doorbell two times, and then three times in a row in impatience.

“Trick or treat!” Tricia squealed when Roger Donovan opened the door with a slightly surprised expression on his face. Maybe he did not even remember it was Halloween night, and every single child in town were out hunting for confectionery.

“Hi, is Clyde here?” Craig asked.

Roger seemed to be half-asleep and dozing off as they spoke, blinking slowly twice in confusion and pushing up his glasses before realising Craig was referring to his son. “Oh, yeah, Clyde, he’s up in his room. Here you go, Tricia,” he said slowly, putting a couple of Milky Way bars into Tricia’s basket. She beamed in delight; chocolate was her favourite. “Don’t you want any?” he asked, turning to Craig.

“Uh, I’m good, thanks,” he replied.

Craig walked into the house without being officially invited, but he guessed Roger was too tired to care. He simply wandered off into the kitchen and Craig could hear wine bottles popping. Tricia had already torn open the plastic wrapping and took a bite of chocolate in content. Clyde’s older sister was quietly sitting in the living room watching the news, and made no remarks when Craig and Tricia walked right pass her to the staircase.

He didn’t knock before entering Clyde’s room, finding his friend in his Luke Skywalker costume and staring at the mirror intensely at nothing but his own reflection, spraying an excessive amount of hairspray onto his hair and desperately trying to style it with a comb. He was wearing khaki jeans and cleaning clothes above his shoes, probably taken from his father’s shoe store at the local mall. Craig scoffed and went over to sit at the bed with Token, who obviously had put a lot more effort in looking cooler that night as Han Solo.

“Hey there, Tuckers,” Clyde said, eyes remaining fixated on the mirror.

“He’s been doing this for the past twenty minutes,” Token told Craig, rolling his eyes. “Hi, Tricia, nice costume.”

“At least a lot better than Craig’s,” Tricia snickered at her brother who rolled his eyes in return. 

“Guys, shut up, I’m concentrating!” Clyde said, pushing up a strand of hair that seemed to have nested itself stubbornly on his forehead.

“Luke Skywalker’s hair doesn’t even look like that,” Craig said.

“Yeah, he has a bowl cut,” Token added. “Like you already do.”

“Okay, guys, you know what?” Clyde said, slamming the large can of hairspray on his desk. His hair looked like a literal bird nest and Craig could hear Token sniggering discreetly at the sight of it. “I honestly don’t care for any of your opinions. Not when this dude right here - ” he said, pointing both thumbs at himself. “Is going to ask Bebe Stevens out to the Christmas ball.”

“After being rejected for fifteen times,” Craig reminded him. 

“I don’t think a Luke Skywalker costume is going to change her mind,” Token shrugged.

Clyde ignored his friends’ remark sand picked up the paper bag left idle on the ground, dumping the massive hairspray can inside. “Alright, time to go!”

“Finally.” Token said, standing up and throwing his hands in the air out of frustration. “The other kids have already started since like half an hour ago. We need to get going before they run out of the good stuff.”

Their first destination was the Whites’ house, as Craig had insisted, because he needed Tricia to stop nagging about being with her friends ASAP. She forgot about the existence of her brother the second she saw Crystal and Karen waiting for her at the front door, waving hysterically at their general direction. They were both wearing costumes of characters Craig could not recognize. Mrs. White gushed for about a whole minute at how lovely Craig was as an older brother for escorting his sister, to which Tricia scoffed at from behind her back.

“You have matching outfits, too!” she exclaimed, talking to Craig like he was still a fourth grader. “How adorable. You are both characters from Star Trek, right? My son and his friends love that show to death.”

After Mrs. White had finally left with the girls, Bob White gave them the shittiest thing one could receive on Halloween night next to candy apples, that was none other than almost-expired candy canes from the previous Christmas.

“Happy Halloween, kids,” he said with a wide grin, like he just gave them the biggest gift one could ever imagine, and closed the door.

“Ugh,” Token grimaced at the disgustingly colourful candy when they were walking away from the Whites’ porch. “Does Jason know his dad is a total bag of douche?”

“Probably not, seeing he’s friends with Kevin Stoley,” Craig said. He cringed at the way his voice sounded from behind the helmet.

“Hey, what’s Kevin ever done to you?” Clyde said defensively. “He’s actually a pretty okay dude once you’ve got to know him.”

“Of course.”

They made sure to walk to the Cartmans’ next, only because Liane Cartman always had a lode of his son’s favourite treats to hand out every Halloween (to Cartman’s dismay). Luckily by the time they arrived Stan and his gang were long gone, off to the other side of the town and probably up to some crazy shit for all Craig knew.

However, when they were walking down the road, someone Craig was not particularly fond of did appear, and greeted them completely out of the blue.

“Happy Halloween, fellas,” Butters Stotch said cheerfully. He was wearing a wizard cape, but at the same time wearing vampire fangs, making it rather difficult to identify what he was dressing up as.

“Hi, Butters,” Token said, being the only one who was courteous enough to return a smile among the three. “Why aren’t you with Stan and Kyle?”

“Oh,” Butters said, looking kind of upset for some reason. “I kinda got in trouble with my dad for messin’ up the order of soup cans on the shelves again, so I reckon they must’ve left without me.”

“Oh, uh, that, sucks,” Token replied awkwardly. “Still, have fun tonight, I guess.”

Butter waved farewell at them in his constantly joyous manner. Again, only Token returned the courtesy.

“His parents are fuckin’ nuts, I swear,” Clyde said once they were out of Butter’s hearing range. “Did you hear they grounded him for the whole entire summer just because he forgot to switch off the tab _once_?”

“Did they?” Token said. “No wonder he wasn’t around with Stan and them.”

“Dude, did you know Brimmy said his cousin told him he saw Butter’s dad outside of a gay club in Denver?”

“What?”

Clyde and Token continued their discussion on Stephen Stotch’s sexual orientation for the next fifteen minutes until they reached the Testaburger residence, located at the other side of the street. Stereo music could be heard from a few blocks away, indicating a girls’ night party that would bound to last all night (it wasn’t like Wendy’s parents would allow boys at her sleepover, anyway).

After walking up to the door, Clyde took a dramatically deep breath and turned to his friends for moral support, except none of them showed any sort of gesture that would be seen as an attempt to ease his nervousness. Craig stared at him blankly and Token was already looking away from secondhand embarrassment, tucking at his black vest offhandedly.

Scowling at his completely unsupportive friends, Clyde rang the doorbell. It chimed and echoed through the crowded house, only to be drowned by the loud noises inside.

A few seconds later, they heard Wendy Testaburger, the host of the slumber party, shouting from inside the house, “ _Can somebody get the door please? I’m watching the oven_ ” and abrupt footsteps come walking towards the doorway. Clyde sprayed his hair once again and straightened his back, waiting for the girls to answer the door.

Bebe and Red were the ones who got the door for Wendy. They were both in their costumes; Bebe in a princess outfit that Craig could not recognise despite being surrounded by them in his sister’s territories. Red looked like she didn’t give a fuck either and only threw on a witch hat that went along with her long, black dress.

“Hi, Bebe,” Clyde said, whipping his hair back, “Hi, Red.”

“What do you want, Clyde?” Bebe said sharply, tapping her painted nails on the doorframe in annoyance. She didn’t bother to acknowledge Craig and Token standing three feet away from Clyde, obviously picking up on the fact they did not want to be there, either.

“Trick-or-treat!” Clyde said, pulling out his filled basket and stuck it under Bebe’s nose.

Craig was trying to avoid Red’s eyes but they could not simply stand there without making any sort of contact, so Red sort of mouthed ‘hi’ at him and he just kind of nodded back at her. Craig was not even sure how she was so certain the person under the helmet was him, possibly from the fact that he was always known for being freakishly taller than everyone else. He also was not sure why they were always so awkward around each other, being cousin and used-to-be-friends and all. Maybe it had something to do with her flipping out and crying at Thanksgiving dinner last year at his home; they hadn’t really talked much since then, but again, they had not talked much since first grade. Maybe it would had been less awkward if Tricia were there, at least she and Red were still on regular speaking terms as far as he was concerned.

“Oh, we just ran out of candy a while ago, sorry,” Bebe replied briefly, showing Clyde the empty bowl placed on the shelf aside of the door. Just when she was about to shut the door in his face, Clyde quickly stuck a foot between the door and pried it open.

“Hey, um, wanna go to the Christmas ball with me, Bebe?” he asked, smiling at her cheekily.

Bebe sighed and swung the door open again. “First of all, I already have a date,” she replied with a snap. “Second of all, Luke Skywalker doesn’t use hairspray.”

“Okay, then, you wanna go to the Christmas ball with me, Red?”

Red flipped him off and slammed the door shut without giving him another chance to speak. A few moments later, bursting laughter could be heard clearly coming from the interior of the house.

Token whistled and said, “She’s right about the hairspray, though.”

Clyde smacked him square on the shoulder in response.

 

***

 

Half of the streetlights went off simultaneously when the clock struck ten-thirty. Craig had already taken off his helmet about an hour ago, feeling that its weight would eventually crush his head for wearing it for too long. With a sack full of candy and eyelids so heavy he could fall right off asleep on the streets, he almost sighed in relief when his friends decided they should call it off for tonight. Clyde had already finished half of the sweets he received from the townspeople, still ranting on and on about Bebe’s unfounded cold attitude towards him.

“I bet she doesn’t even have a date,” Clyde said through gritted teeth, kicking idle leaves on the street into the ditch as he walked.

“She does,” Token told him calmly. “Kenny asked her last week.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Clyde exclaimed, latching onto Token’s shoulders and shaking them.

“Sorry, but I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, dude,” Token said, freeing himself from Clyde’s grip. “Don’t break your heart on her; she never even liked you that way.”

“Oh, don’t even try to console me, Token,” Clyde said. “You’re in the safe zone ‘cause Nicole Daniels is going with you.”

“Craig doesn’t have a date, either,” Token reminded him, directing the attention back to Craig, walking a few steps behind them and looking undeniably bored.

“Yeah, only because he rejected _every single_ chick who asked him! Like, the fuck!” 

“I won’t even be going,” Craig deadpanned. “There’s a rerun of Red Racer’s Christmas Special that night.”

Ever since everyone had started their freshman year all they thought about was dating, their girlfriends, boring ass Christmas balls, and all that kind of shit. But Craig wasn’t that interested, ever. In fact, he was not sure if he would in near future. The hype, in his opinion, was overrated. But of course his friends would mock him endlessly for this kind of abstinent attitudes like some kind of 70-year-old grandmother would uphold. Especially Clyde.

“Suit yourself, dude. You don’t know what you’re missing over a fuckin' TV show.”

“Pretty sure I do. And I’m happy to miss it.”

“Craig, actually, if you don’t mind me asking,” Clyde pressed on, and Craig could feel a headache forming from the back of his brain. “Do you ever do anything that’s not related to sci-fi movies, Red Racer and that weird hamster of yours? Be honest with me.”

“No,” Craig said. “And for the record, Stripe is a guinea pig.”

“He is how he is, Clyde,” Token said wistfully.

They did not speak a single word to each other on the rest of the way home, too worn out to initiate any form of debate or conversation while dragging their tired bodies back to their beds. When they reached the road junction that separated their paths back home, Token finally broke the silence, covering a yawn with his hand.

“See you two later,” he said, waving at them briefly before turning around, walking towards the other side of the road.

“Bye,” Craig said, his voice equally as tired.

But they received no response from Clyde, which was highly unusual. Token looked behind Craig and saw the Luke Skywalker knock-off inspecting something on the ground.

"Clyde, I mean, the least you could do is wave," Token said, slightly offended.

Clyde was kneeling on the ground, focused on something that neither of his friends could see in the dark.

"What?" he snapped his head upwards. "Oh, sorry, dude. I thought I stepped on dog shit."

"Did you?" Token asked, already looking slightly grossed out.

"No...but I did step on something, I don't know what it is, though."

Clyde took a step backwards and lifted his right foot up, peeking at the base of his white sneakers. He groaned when he saw the ungodly sight beneath, "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Is it really dog shit?"

"No, but it spattered all over my new shoes. My dad's gonna kill me, dude!"

"Chill. Just rub it off with bleach when you get home," Craig said.

Clyde groaned loudly again, setting his foot back on the ground. "Just what the fuck is this?"

Though completely puzzled by Clyde’s obsession with what he had stepped into, Token whipped out his homemade lightsaber and pulled out the tower of toilet rolls that acted as the blade from the flashlight. He handed it to Clyde after switching it on. “Here you go.”

Craig was already started to lose interest when Token joined Clyde on the ground, looking at something that was barely noticeable if Clyde wasn’t in a constant state of attention deficit. He left his friends out in the dark in front of his house, hands fumbling in his coat pockets for the house key.

“Dude!” Clyde yelled at him from behind.

Craig sighed. Every inch of his muscles were hurting from walking around all night like a zombie and he just wanted to head home and sleep for ten hours. Whatever Clyde was trying to show him, he was not really interested.

“Craig!” Clyde shouted behind him. “Fucking Christ, man, turn around and take a look at this shit!”

“I think you’ll wanna check this out, Craig,” Token was also yelling at him, which was unusual because he would normally side with Craig when it comes to ridiculing Clyde’s over-the-top statements. Craig halted his footsteps and turned around, heading back towards the spot his friends were, squatting down and examining something on the ground.

“What.”

“See that?” Token flashed his torch on the ground. Its covered about two feet on the ground but bright enough for Craig to see just what in hell they were looking at.

It was some kind of a - dark, slimy, gooey liquid, covering a side of the street as Token stood up and directed his flashlight towards the end of the road. The slime left a long, straight trail that did not break off, even taking a smooth turn at the road conjunction.

“Maybe someone’s car has a fuel leak,” Craig shrugged.

“Dude, pretty sure this is not gas,” Clyde said, fingers pinching his chin as he continued to scrutinise the unknown liquid, determined to find out what it was. “Gas smells like a construction site.”

“Ugh, this is totally unnecessary, Clyde!” Token backed away for a few steps when Clyde went as far as sticking a candy cane he got from Bob White into the goo, dragging it upwards until it formed a string between the tip of the cane and the ground.

“Craig, you’re the science nerd here,” Clyde said when Craig stopped fighting against his curiosity and took the cane from Clyde. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

“No,” Craig said passively. “I’ve no idea.”

He took a closer look of the liquid. Clyde was right, it definitely didn’t smell like petrol or paint or anything common that came into his mind. If anything, it was more like gelatine, but with much less density and transparency. He tore his make-shift cape off and rubbed the trash bag against the black goo, grimacing when it stained all over the plastic.

“Jesus, stop playing with that thing,” Token said again. “It’s disgusting.”

Craig stood up and picked up the piece of trash bag on the ground, except he could not; the piece of stuck on the slime and he just could not pull it out. After a few failed attempts, the plastic bag sunk into the liquid, until it disappeared completely.

“What the fuck,” he said under his breath. Token and Clyde were already a few feet ahead of him, walking alongside the black slime trail that could be dragging on for miles for all he knew.

“You comin', Craig?” Clyde asked, waving at him with his basket. His hairspray had long worn off, leaving his hair in a mess in the autumn wind. Craig sighed again, his breath forming into a cloud of mist in the air, and gave in to whatever thing Clyde had gotten him into that night.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Craig told Token promptly, because he honestly did not give a fuck what they were doing tonight as long as he could be on his bed before midnight. “You know Clyde isn’t going to let this slide, 'cause he’ll start crying.”

“I’m not gonna cry!”

“Sure.”

They walked for about ten minutes down the road, with Clyde chattering away frantically about all the possibilities of this black goo thing he discovered. The moonlight casted a dim, eerie glow, blurring their shadows on the ground.

"Maybe this is like the Alien movie," he said, turning to Craig. "You remember it, right?"

"How is this like the Alien movie."

"I don't know! Maybe some Alien crash landed on earth and this is their blood!" Clyde said. "Oh my god, maybe we're about to make first contact with an alien!”

“I still think it’s just a fuel leak.”

“Dude, I thought we all agreed this is _not_ fuel!”

"Can you please keep your voice down?" Token said. He was holding the flashlight in his hand firmly, illuminating the dark roads ahead of them.

Catching up with Token's fast pace, Clyde snatched the flashlight out of Token's hand so he could lead the way, following the trail like a drunk driver doing a walk-and-turn test.

When they walked past their old elementary school and edging near the rundown entrance to Stark’s Pond, Craig already had a gut feeling that this was a complete waste of time. The goo had led them to a dead end - well, not exactly a dead end, but it continued into the unnamed woodlands the locals simply called the Lost Forest.

“Don’t wanna sound like Kyle Broflovski or anything, but I just knew this was a bad idea,” Token said when they eventually arrived at the outskirts of town, surrounded by ominous trees that grew ferociously around the edge of the woods. The trail was blocked by wild plants and rocks varying in sizes. An unappealing odour roamed the area, indicating the territories of homeless people and wild animals.

Everyone - kids and adults - knew the forest was off limits. The only people who ever went there were the local avocational hunters and heroin users.It was believed to be dangerous and creepy in general. Not that Craig ever believed or cared about the bullshit the townspeople made up to scare their children with, of course. Parents invent things about the forest, frightening the kids with stories about little children going missing after straying too far from the main roads, and ending up wandering in the woods for an exit. Even Kenny McCormick refused to step foot in there for fifty bucks.

“Guys, I know what we should do.” Clyde started.

“No,” Craig cut him off.

“Let’s follow the slime and see where it goes!”

“No,” Token agreed.

"Why not?" Clyde's smile faded. "This could be fun, come on!"

"This sounds exactly like what Stanley Marsh and his douchey friends would do," Craig told him.

"And what's wrong with that?" Clyde retorted. "We never do anything fun like them."

"The 'fun' stuff they did got them fucking arrested."

"But at least they had fun! And they didn't get _prostituded_ \- "

"Prosecuted."

"- prosecuted or anything! They only got lectured by Barbrady and Mackey for like, an hour!"

"Okay, Clyde, if you want to follow the disgusting goo so bad, you should just go ahead," Token suggested calmly.

 "You two are just pussies scared of a _tiny_ forest," Clyde taunted, as if that ever worked on Craig, who would not even bat an eye if someone insulted his mother to his face. "Oooooohhh! Ghoooosts! Spooky!"

"Yes, Clyde, we are pussies. So enter the forest yourself, by all means," Token simply replied, taking a step to the side to make way for Clyde. "You can even take my flashlight with you, be my guest."

"Say hi to the aliens for me," Craig said.

"I don't even need a flashlight, that's how not-a-pussy I am," Clyde snapped, dumping the flashlight back into Token's basket.

Clyde was a self-proclaimed man of his words, and he did enter the forest alone after failed attempts of getting his friends to go with him. However, approximately three seconds later, he came running out of the woods, panting and looking close to passing out. Both of his friends stared at him with raised eyebrows.

"Well?" Token said, crossing his arms. "Saw any aliens?"

"Let's just go home," Clyde said sheepishly. And Craig couldn't be happier to oblige.


	2. The Outlaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butters is missing. Everyone is looking for him with their own interests in mind.

He was being followed.

No, it wasn’t just a thought or a fear that he was being followed. He knew for a fact that someone - something, was tailing closely behind him in the dark, lurking just close enough to snatch him before he could make it to somewhere safe, somewhere the radars could not detect him. He felt his heartbeat racing and palms sweating, picked up his pace and ran as fast as he could. The shadow behind him moving closer, and closer, until it was close enough to devour him entirely.

The tunnel was overcast by shadows. He tried to light something up, anything, even a tiny spark would do, but nothing gave him a positive reaction. He fell a several times in panic, picking himself up frantically and trying to see through what was waiting for him in the pitch darkness.

And there he saw it. An exit. The other subjects weren’t lying, after all. He ran forward and grasped the steel ladder firmly. _One step at a time_ , he told himself as he climbed. _They move slow in the dark_.

When he finally made it up to the ground, he found himself in a forest. Owls were chirping in the dark, flying across the tree branches and startling him. But he remembered what he was told; if he wanted to escape, he had to be braver than this. He had to use what had been forced onto him to his own advantage.

He looked down at his bony, scarred fingers, holding them into a fist, and followed the narrow path leading to nowhere.

Hours had passed, perhaps, or maybe it only had been a few minutes. He did not really have a full grasp on the concept of time. He could rarely tell if it was daytime or nighttime in his room, with no clocks or windows and all. He walked and walked in the shoes that did not fit him, stolen from an unconscious and unknowing staff from the entrance, feeling the icy cold air beginning to eat into his bare skin mercilessly.

And then he saw it. A tiny but homely farmhouse, standing in the midst of a cornfield. Shadows of people could be seen from the drawn curtains. He stayed and observed for a while, until all the lights were shut off and the shadows could no longer be seen.

The plants stung his legs as he walked, but he did not pay any attention to the pain. His empty stomach and dry throat were the things that could most easily cause his untimely death at the moment.

He turned the doorknob carefully. It was locked and secured, of course. He walked around the house to find what he was looking for. Pausing his footstep, he could not help but to smile when he reached the electric garage door.

With one hand, trembling from a mixture of fear and excitement, he placed it on the steel surface and closed his eyes, concentrating on the pressure on the tip of his fingers. He did not dare to look, afraid to have caused way more damage than he originally intended to. But he had not.

The gate opened with a screech, moving gradually upwards and he let go of his hand the second the gap beneath was wide enough for him to crawl inside.

The garage was dark and humid. He could not even see his own feet once he had left where the moonlight could reach. He cringed at the noise of a heavy box crashing onto the ground when he bumped into something on his back. Glancing upwards, he and saw what could be the silhouette of a ceiling light. He haltingly stretched out his arms again and felt the intense heat of electricity reaching the end of his fingertips agin. With a slight ‘click’, the light tuned on and casted his shadow on the ground.

There were shelve after shelve of prepared food and commodities. They were mostly unrecognizable to him, so he unboxed everything until he could find something seemingly edible. He gnawed on the dry, tasteless biscuits and put the rest of the boxes back onto its places, afraid to leave any traces of intrusion.

The lights flickered dangerously all in a sudden and he jolted, knowing that danger was approaching and no matter what it was, he needed to get out of the garage as fast as possible. Gathering all the biscuit containers he could find in his arms, he dashed towards the only exit only to be met with a gun in his face.

“ _What in Christ’s name do y’think yer doing in my property_!”

The man had a rifle in his right hand, pointing it menacingly at him, finger pressing against the trigger and he froze, unable to move a limb.

“I - ” he started. “I don’t - ”

“Bill? What on earth in going on?” Another voice - a woman’s - shouted from outside of the garage. Abrupt footsteps came running towards their direction and the man turned, distracted for a few seconds and he knew it was his only shot of breaking out.

“’s a damn kid from town, tryna steal from right under my eyelids!” The man hollered and flicked his gun at him, making him flinch and dropping everything in his hands. His breath smelt foul, a mixture of beer with cigarettes, bloodshot eyes glaring at him and the biscuits on the ground.

“Oh, let it slide, Bill, there’s nothing to take from the garage!” The woman appeared from the entrance, staring him down with pity. “Hon, just what are you doing here?”

_Zap!_

“Bill!” The woman cried again when the whole room drowned in the darkness of midnight. The man waved his gun around hysterically, yelling and hollering at his wife to stop the thief from escaping.

He could not see anything as he ran across the field, too afraid to look back and see the man chasing after him with the rifle. He nearly crumpled to the ground when he heard the first gunshot, and the second, and the man cursing loudly at the despicable biscuit-stealer on his property. The woods, ironically, was his only safe haven for cover.

He finally stopped when he reentered the eerie woods, panting as he doubled down and wheezing to catch his breath. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, unsurprised to see it stained with blood. Leaning against the trunk and staring up to the sky, with the brief contentment of seeing real stars for the first time, he slowly drifted into deep slumber.

 

***

 

It was 7:30am and Craig knew for a fact he would be late for school if he did not get up this instance, but the air was cold and he was quite unwilling to leave his bed and shut the windows. The buzz of the Halloween weekend lingered with decorations yet to be returned to the attic to collect dust for another year. He grabbed a handful of his own hair and tried to smooth the strands backwards to get them out of his eyes.

Fumbling in his bedside drawer for the remote, he switched on the television in his room, which was probably older than him and was borderline watchable. His father installed it in his room after he got promoted and bought a new one for the living room to celebrate. This caused Tricia to throw a tantrum, of course.

Every single channel were currently broadcasting morning news about some ‘Breaking news in South Park’. It rarely happened, but when it did, it was almost guaranteed something bad had occurred. He turned up the volume and unsurprisingly, it was about the car fuel leak which contaminated the main roads of South Park, even the road to North Park.

“ _\- tracing down the troublemaker’s car, but local police have no concrete evidence of the culprit nor any credible witnesses. Car owners of South Park ought to check under their vehicles before causing-_ ”

Craig switched off the television and made a mental note to tell Clyde about this on the bus. When he went downstairs to get breakfast from the kitchen, he saw his mother sitting on a tall stool beside the wall phone, with a mildly concerned look on her face. Tricia was already dressed for school, keeping a close eye on their mother with an empty bowl of cereal in front of her, waiting to bomb her with questions the second she hung up on the caller. She didn’t say anything when Craig sat down in front of her, pouring Cröonchy Stars into his own bowl. Their father was nowhere to be seen, probably already had left the house for work before they even woke up.

“…yes, Linda, of course, I understand,” Laura said softly, frowning slightly and looking over her shoulder at her son, which was most often a bad sign as well. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s doing fine. I’ll let you know later, alright? You take care now.”

“Who was that, mom?” Tricia asked before Craig could even open his mouth, wondering if someone was calling to get him into trouble, again.

“It was Mrs. Stotch calling,” Laura explained, hanging up the phone back on the wall. “Craig, did you go out with your friends on Halloween night?”

“Yes.”

“And did you happen to see Leopold on the way?”

“Who is Leopold.”

“Leopold Stotch,” Laura repeated, and sighed disapprovingly when he stared at her in confusion. “ _Butters_.”

“Oh,” Craig said, swallowing a mouthful of cereal and recalling bumping into Butters in front of Cartman’s house. “What about him.”

“Well, he didn't go home since that night, apparently,” Laura sighed in vain. “Poor Linda, she’s probably worrying herself sick.”

“Wait, so he disappeared?” Tricia exclaimed, her eyes widened in shock. For a town where nothing ever happened, this was bound to be on the news for at least a month.

“We don’t know that yet, dear.”

“Did they call the police?”

“There’s no need for you to know the details, Tricia,” Laura said sternly. “And don’t you go gossiping with your friends about this, the Stotchs are devastated.”

Even without Tricia and the rest of the seventh grade talking about the news, it probably had already spread like wildfire since the second Mrs. Stotch called the first mother in town. Despite trying to be as helpful as possible, everyone had reserved thoughts on the extent of devastation the Stotchs were experiencing, since they never gave two shits about their son until he’d finally gone missing. Craig was also pretty sure they did not even notice he was gone before he failed to appear for breakfast on the first school day after Halloween. Maybe they did not even notice he was not sitting with them during Sunday service, either.

After finishing his breakfast, he picked up his backpack from the ground, gave his mother a mandatory hug, and headed towards the door ten minutes earlier than usual.

Even for South Park the weather was abnormally chilly that morning, signifying the nearing winter. Craig put on his chullo and debated whether he should risk being called a pussy by Clyde for wearing a scarf and gloves.

When he arrived at the bus stop, he was quite displeased to find Stanley Marsh and Kyle Broflovski standing by the stop sign. “Hey,” Stan said, even if he always knew Craig hated his guts. But they lived in a small town and there was really virtually no room for ignoring each other, so Craig nodded at him.

“Did you hear what happened to Butters?” Kyle said.

“Yeah, for all we know his parent probably sold him into slavery by accident and staged this whole thing,” Stan agreed, rubbing his bare hands together for warmth.

“Or maybe, it was you guys again,” Craig said.

“What?” Kyle said defensively. “It has nothing to do with us.”

“Every time weird shit happens, it’s always something to do with the _four_ of you.”

“Dude, lay off,” Stan jeered, obviously taking the piss at Craig’s suspicion. “Butters probably just got lost in the mall again.”

Craig made no further comment because he knew even if they _did_ cause Butter’s disappearance, they would come up with some unethical and twisted way of covering up and diverting all the blame to innocent bystanders. Just like their usual ways.

When the bus arrived at the stop, he made sure to shove his way up to the front, despite Kyle’s loud protest, and take the seat at the far back.

Clyde never spent a second without his cassette player during the way to school. To Craig’s dismay, his friend also happened to have the _best_ taste in music but at the same time decides to sing along to every single one of them, ruining the songs all in one for everyone else. Token never rode the bus with them because he was ‘obviously too rich to travel with us peasants’, said Clyde, so there was no one there to make him shut up, either.

Staring into nowhere and seeing his own bored reflection on the frosted mirrors, he decided that if he had to hear Clyde singing off-key and loudly to _The Way You Make Me Feel_ again, he would crawl out of the narrow bus window and jump outside.

They arrived at Part County High School at 8:15am sharp, which gave them a fifteen-minute leeway to be themselves until they had to submissively sit their asses down for class. Craig went to his lockers and pulled out his general science textbook, and only his general science textbook, because it was the only class he gave a shit about.

The 9th grade classrooms were located on the 3rd floor, an undesirable location right next to the teacher’s offices. Most of their grade consisted of kids who knew each other since they were in diapers in South Park, and some unfortunate souls from other towns whose parents thought it was a great idea for their kids to go to the shittiest public school in Park County.

The vice principal was standing in the classroom by the half-broken projector when Craig marched in, followed by Clyde who hurriedly stuffed his treasured cassette player into his backpack. Token was already there, and gave them a small wave but did not dare to say anything with the vice principal’s strong presence in the room.

There were only about two hundred people in the whole high school with fifty in each grade, but it was still a rare occasion for the vice principal herself to deal with matters among the school grounds. Everyone who had heard the news already knew she was going to talk to them about Butters. Craig could feel her sight following him until he dumped his bag on the ground and sat down in his corner seat. That was when she began to talk.

“Now, I’m sure most of you have already heard the bad news,” she said, starting to pace back and forth at the front of their classroom. “One of your classmates, Leopold Stotch - ”

“Wait, who?” someone from a few rows ahead asked curiously.

“ _Butters_ , Stotch, as you would often call him,” the vice principal corrected herself. “Has gone missing since Halloween night.”

The classroom fell silent for a second, and the chattering resumed quickly. Craig could see Stanley Marsh and his friends exchanging nervous glances; maybe they really had something to do with this, it would not be the first time they used Butter’s sudden disappearance to their advantage.

“Although the police are still gathering possible criminal evidence regarding this occurrence, and we must not make assumptions based on what we know now, we have every reason to believe Butters might have encountered dangers on the streets at night.”

“That is why, to ensure your safety, we _strongly suggest_ ,” she paused for emphasising her point, and everyone knew in their guts it meant police were going to patrol the streets and send everyone out playing in the dark back to their homes. “That our students to remain home after eight o’clock without an adult supervisor.” The end of her statement was followed by groans of complaint, students rolling their eyes in discontent.

“This is so fucking ridiculous,” Eric Cartman sneered, purposely raising his voice enough for the vice principal to hear every word. “Just ‘cause Butter’s stupid enough to wander off into nowhere, we have to all stay home at night like a bunch of preschoolers. Great.”

“One of your peers have gone missing,” the vice principal maintained, her icy stare fixated on Cartman. “The least you could do is to show some concern, Mr. Cartman.”

“Concern?” Cartman repeated, before bursting into laughter. “Is _anyone_ here actually concerned about Butters? Anyone? Now that would be some bad news.”

“Shut up, Cartman!” Wendy Testaburger turned around on her seat and hollered at him. “Of course we are worried about Butters. He’s our friend!”

“Speak for yourself, Wendy,” Cartman said, snickering at his angry classmate. “But I wouldn’t call myself a friend to someone with intelligence so low he got lost in the town of _South Park_.”

“You are unbearable,” she huffed at him, and turned back to the vice principal immediately. “Sorry, ma’am.”

The vice principal gave Cartman one last glare, and left the room with an eruption of discussions behind her back about the case of Butters Stotch.

“ _How much do you think his parents are gonna offer this time?_ ” He overheard Cartman immediately turning to whisper at Kenny. “Like, ten-thousand?”

Kenny muttered something back to Cartman under his hood, and Craig leaned backwards far enough to not hear what they were talking about.

 

***

 

Craig went home to find that his mother made grilled salmon that night. With mashed potato and gravy. His father’s favorites, he had noticed.

Thomas Tucker had not been the gentle, loving father he saw himself to be. He was always preoccupied with a newspaper in his hand, a bottle of beer, and sometimes an additional TV screen in his face. Craig had vague memories of playing catch with his father, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

Tricia had Karen over for dinner and they were laughing hysterically about something upstairs (most likely fawning over New Kids on the Block). Craig poked at his food and tried to drown out the pop music coming from his sister’s room and the TV.

“How was school today, son?” Thomas asked over the newspaper he did not have time to read in the morning, not making any sort of eye contact as usual.

“It was fine,” Craig replied.

And that pretty much filled up Thomas’s quota of ‘talking to my children’ for the night. He cleared his throat loudly and folded the newspaper, setting it down on the coffee table. He went over to the couch and put on his leather coat, leaving his dishes in the sink on his way.

"Where are you going at this hour, Thomas?" asked Laura.

"The town has organised a search party for the Stotch boy," he explained briefly. "No need to leave the lights on for me, Laura. I'm probably going to be out until late.”

“Why, I haven’t heard anything about this arrangement,” she said.

“It was Sergeant Yates’s idea. He thought the boy had wandered into the woods and got lost. The more people go looking for him, the quicker he will be found.”

His wife nodded knowingly. "Stay safe out there, dear."

"Be good to your mother," he added, looking at Craig. He only ever said that when he was about to leave for a business trip.

Craig watched his father walking to the streets through their narrow driveway, greeting a few men gathering in the middle of the road. He noticed a few of them had beer bottles with them; perhaps this was not purely a kind gesture towards the Stotchs, and rather another one of their private, alcohol filled gatherings.

He finished his dinner and went upstairs. Tricia and Karen had quieted down at the sound of his footsteps. Not that he really cared what they were doing, anyway.

He entered his room and turned on the lights. At least, he tried to. Because the lights remained stubbornly off. He flipped the switch up and down in attempt to get it to work, but nothing happened.

_Weird_ , he thought. He recalled changing the lightbulbs just a few weeks ago when it finally went out.

Walking over to his closet with the lamp on, he rummaged through the drawers for another bulb to fix the light. He finally found one beneath all the unused summer clothings, and stood up to grab his desk chair to stand on.

_Flick!_

The television screen flashed for a few times, and turned on by itself. There was a static noise and the imagery was distorted for a moment but quickly recovered, showing the night news anchor in front of his microphone with a background imagery of Butters Stotch. 

“ _\- vanished but no traces of a possible abduction were left behind. Police are currently still looking for possible locations where the missing boy might be -_ ”

Craig glanced over to his bedside table. The remote was sitting there on the wooden surface. Idly. There was no way he could have accidentally pressed the power button.

Slowly getting up, he walked over to the television and switched it off manually, and unplugged it on the way back to changing the lightbulb.

"Craig!" Laura shouted from the kitchen, and Craig could feel his heart stop beating for just a second from the suddenness. "Clyde is on the phone!"

And there came the fourth bad sign in one single day, all building up to a huge shitstorm that was about to be ignited by whatever reason Clyde was calling him for. He jumped down half the flight of stairs in a hurry and landed with a loud thump.

“I told you not to jump down the stairs like that, it’s dangerous!” Laura was crossing her arms and waiting for him at the phone, holding the speaker out to him.

Craig muttered an apology under his breath and took over the phone. Laura resumed in cleaning the kitchen table, staying far away enough to give her son some privacy. 

“What,” Craig said into the phone.

“Dude,” Clyde said on the other end. “Cartman is calling everyone to his house.”

“Fuck, no,” Craig said. “I thought we were over that since we were, like, ten.”

“He said - ”

“Let me guess,” Craig cut him off. “He wants everyone to go out and look for Butters so we can split the money his parents are offering to anyone who finds him.”

Clyde’s end was quiet for a moment before asking, “How did you know?”

“Those assholes are predictable as shit, in case you haven’t noticed. Also, next time you wanna tell me something, don't waste your phone bill. You live right next door."

“But it's cold as fuck outside!"

"So why the hell should we go to Cartman's?"

"Look, dude, I know you don't care about anything and all that, let alone Butters," Clyde started, and Craig could almost see his friend making that dumb face when figuring out an excuse (literally, because he could get a glimpse of the Donovans' kitchen from his own). "But we really gotta do something about all the cops in town. They are freaking everyone out.”

“There are cops in town?”

“Yeah, dude, a few of ‘em, at least. They are knocking on people’s doors and asking questions. One just came to my place, so he might be walking over to your house right now.”

"So? Like you said, I don’t really care."

"So," Clyde continued quickly. "Annie Knitts said she heard a tenth grader heard Mrs. Jenkins talking about cancelling. The Christmas Ball, I mean.”

"I want to sleep."

"Wait, just wait a fucking second, I'm getting to the point!” Clyde interrupted, stumbling over his words. “Apparently it was Kyle’s mom’s idea - she thought it would be too dangerous with all the kids in town going out late and all that bullshit. She even called the vice principal and tried to convince her it was risky to hold a dance just ‘cause Butters went missing!”

That sounded exactly like what Sheila Broflovski would do. She once also banned Valentine cards in South Park Middle School because her son did not receive any, apparently. An informal dance with girls in outfits deemed ‘improper' in her eyes, according to her own logic, would cause lifelong damages to all the youngsters in town. Butter’s disappearance would be a perfect excuse to execute her plan of affecting the school board’s decisions.

“Since when did Broflovski cared about the Christmas Ball,” Craig said.

‘Since he got Rebecca Cotsworlds to go with him, duh!”

“Who.”

“The weird homeschooled girl who lives down the street. Anyway, are you coming or not?”

“I don’t care about the Christmas Ball, remember?”

“Sides from cancelling the Christmas Ball,” Clyde added. “Kyle also said the vice principal was thinking about arranging a _mandatory_ crime-awareness workshop for extra credit.”

“And?”

“And it will last for the whole day. Until six. Which means - ”

“I won’t get to watch the Red Racer Christmas Special rerun.”

“Exactly.”

That sure took long enough for Clyde to finally bring something up that would be potentially in conflict with Craig’s own interests. He thought about all the omens he had encountered that day, and tried to think on the positive side that at least Clyde wasn’t swindling him out of his birthday money so that they could start a flute band in Peru or something. He also probably thought as long as the Christmas Ball was still a thing, he could still at least have a shot of dancing with Bebe Stevens.

“Fine,” Craig said.

 

***

 

Craig stood on the paddles of his bicycle as he rode down a slope, which was the second thing he was told not to do by his mother (the first thing being forgetting his helmet, and he did nonetheless). The temperature started dropping at an alarming rate since late afternoon, leaving no traces of the warm sunlight from just a few hours ago. She had opposed strongly against him heading out at night, but gave in after he had agreed to put on the scarf and gloves and an extra sweater before leaving the house. He also managed to smuggle the penknife he found last year on the shore of Stark’s Pond into his pocket.

You know, just in case.

It took him about five minutes to arrive at the entrance of the Cartman household. He did not bother to lock his bicycle, along with the other seven bikes that were already lying on the ground against the fences. Opening the door and walking in confidently as if he lived there, like any other kid would in South Park, he headed straight towards the basement door where Cartman usually held his age-restricted town meetings.

There were the usuals that answered to Cartman and his crazy schemes; Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and surprisingly Kevin was there sitting beside Jason. If it had been three years ago and they were still hanging out with Jimmy Valmer before he stopped talking to them one summer, he would had been sitting right between Clyde and Token.

“Fucking took you long enough,” Cartman said when he walked past him, with no appreciation at all for him coming to help despite his indifference to everything. He had the map of South Park (which wasn’t of remarkable size at all) stuck on the brick wall behind him, circles were marked with red ink to indicate the locations they should cover.

“Do you seriously think Butters would wander off into the Forest?” Kyle asked. “I mean, we know he isn’t bright, but not _that_ dumb.”

“Don’t forget that it’s your big fat bitch of a mom who got us all into this mess,” Cartman derided. “You don’t get to make any decisions here, Jewflovski.”

“Don’t call my mom a big fat bitch, you piece of lard!”

“Are you fucking scared of the forest like a five-year old?”

“Hell no, I’m not!”

Two seconds into the scene and Craig already wanted to get up and go back home to get some sleep, maybe some homework done before the next day, rather than listening to these dickheads fighting with each other about trivial bullshit again. With Kyle and Cartman ready to wring each others’ necks any second, he suspected that they would get much done tonight, let alone actually finding Butters. At this point, nobody could even be sure if Butters was really still in town. And if he wasn’t, riding bikes around Park County wasn’t exactly a good idea on a school night.

Craig noticed that beside the map there was another poster. With Butter’s picture on it, to be exact, and it was the same as the one they showed on the news. It was pinned to every electric pole and street signs since the morning. Below the usual ‘Have You Seen This Boy’ was a number. ‘$2,000’. That was the number the Stotchs were offering in hopes of their son’s return. In Craig’s opinion, it was as little as it could be, and definitely reflected how much Butters actually meant to his parents. Someone would probably offer the same amount for a missing dog.

The nine boys went their separate ways to look for Butters after Cartman had dismissed them, still barking at Kyle relentlessly as they headed to their designated location right beyond the end of the street. Craig took the route to the main street along with Clyde and Token, since dirty alleyways made the quickest route to get to U-Store It.

There was no one there, because no one with a good intention would go to U-Store It at this hour, but for some reason the storage place never closed until 11pm. It always smelt distinctively like vomit mixed with vodka, being one of the locations where drunks hung out, therefore marking it another unsuitable place for late night visits. There were a massive pile of Halloween-themed decorations draped on every flat or vertical surface, as they had been for the past two weeks; the workers obviously could not be bothered to take them down.

**DO NOT ENTER** , read the sign standing on the edge of the Forest, **GOVERNMENT PROPERTY AHEAD**. The same signs were put all over the edge of the forest, but many had been torn down or graffitied on throughout the years. There was also an additional electric fence built to prevent trespassers and the general public, but there had been a huge hole down beneath and whatever lied beyond was not important enough for anyone to come fix it. It had also clearly lost the ability to electrocute anyone.

“Butters?” Clyde shouted into the void, his voice echoing through the woods. “You there?”

“This is a complete waste of time,” Craig said. “If he really were here, the cops would have found him ages ago.”

“But the cops wouldn’t actually go inside of the woods to look for him, right?” Token said. “It’s off limits by _the law_.”

“Thank you, Token,” Clyde said, shrugging at Craig with a face that was, to Craig, begging to be punched.

“But this doesn't’ mean I endorse the idea of going in,” Token quickly added.

“Dude, we know you are rich as fuck and everything, but two hundred dollars means a lot to me and Craig, alright?”

“It’s not about the fucking money! It’s about being a rational human being - ”

“Shh!”

Clyde gestured at Token to shut up, waving his hands agitatedly and kneeling behind the fence, looking at something behind it.

“Guys,” he gasped. “Guys, look!”

“What?”

“There’s someone over there!”

“Your alien jokes aren't funny anymore, Clyde.”

“I swear to god I saw someone - right over there, behind the truck.”

“Maybe it was just a squirrel or something,” Token suggested, but Clyde shook his head.

“I know what I saw.” Clyde was quick to hide behind of Craig, pushing him forward and said, “Go check it out, Craig.”

“Why do I have to do all the dirty work for you,” Craig asked.

“Because you’re five feet ten and aren’t scared of shit, of course!” Clyde said, and Craig wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be taken as a compliment or not. He set the basketball aside, walking slowly towards the direction where Clyde was pointing at.

The moment he took a closer look on the truck, he knew that Clyde was not bluffing them. There was a pair of legs sticking out from behind the abandoned military vehicle marked with the pattern of the flag, lying flat on the grass.

“Butters?” Token said, his voice also quivering for the slightest. “Is that you?”

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clyde squeaked, his fingers digging into Craig’s sweater. “Is he dead?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Freeing himself from Clyde’s grip, Craig crawled through the hole in the fence and walked over to the back of the truck and reminded himself that this was South Park. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d broke a law, anyway. He reminded himself that dead bodies in the woods certainly didn’t belong to the mundane mountain town. Regardless, he reached into his pocket and felt the cold metal piece of his penknife.

He took a deep breath and went around the corner with Token and Clyde followed closely behind him. Predictably, there was someone lying on the ground, not moving a muscle and eyes shut.

It was a boy. A boy with shoulder-length, messy blonde hair.

But he was far from being Butters Stotch.

At first glance, the boy looked nothing out of the ordinary; scrawny and scruffy, but as normal and unremarkable as any South Park resident could be. He was, however, wearing some kind of a patient gown, definitely not enough to fend him from the ruthless weather of Colorado. He was also walking in shoes that were undoubtedly too big for him.

And he was clearly unconscious, but breathing steadily, to say the least.

“Who the fuck is he?” Clyde whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this story is kind of fast-paced; I'm used to writing short stories and one-shots and chaptered-fics aren't really my thing (look at all the WIPs I have on my account, oops). Anyway I hope you enjoyed the story so far! Kudos and comments would be very appreciated and simultaneously fuel my will to write and live <3


	3. Good Catholics Are Supposed To Help People And Some Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig realizes his situation and his conscience does not allow him to not give a fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year to you all!! It took me a long time to write this chapter because I was busy during the holiday and had zero motivation to write.

"- I dunno." Token carefully walked over to the truck and knelt on the ground on one knee. "I've never seen him around before."

Strangers in South Park was an uncommon occurrence. It wasn't exactly the best tourist attraction unless angry, bigoted rednecks were your peculiar subject of interest. Never had it been a good thing if strangers were in town, as long as the townspeople were concerned. Strangers meant trouble, and trouble meant disturbance of the harmony of their small mountain town. The last time a stranger showed up like this, a brand new Wallmart was built and drove every single business to bankruptcy on the main street.

Whoever this stranger was, Craig thought to himself, he wouldn't be any good news.

“So? Is he dead or not?" Clyde asked again in distress.

"No," Token replied calmly, examining the seemingly lifeless boy. “He's still breathing. But I think he's out cold.”

Clyde, attempting to act out of bravery, stepped forward and poked the stranger on the shoulder. After receiving no physical reaction, he shook the stranger’s shoulder harshly as a failed attempt to wake him up.

"What do we do now?" Clyde said. "He isn't dead, but he sure looks like he's ‘bout to be in a few minutes."

Clyde was not that far off with his prediction. It was about twenty degrees out there and anyone without proper clothing would surely die from the dire winter weather. Oddly enough, the boy’s lips were pale and chapped, but weren't turning purple from the coldness, which meant he was not suffering from any sort of hypothermia, as Craig had observed.

“I've got an idea," Token said grimly, gripping firmly onto the handles of his bike. "We get outta here and pretend we've never seen him before and go on with our lives. Poof. Done."

Craig pondered for a moment. Under regular circumstances, he would had gone with Token's suggestion immediately and ride his bike back home and sleep until it was time for school again. But something didn't seem right; he glanced at the boy again, feeling the heavy uneasiness that had been forming in the bottom of his guts since Halloween night.

And the noises of sirens cut his thoughts off. He looked behind him alarmingly, and saw policemen in their uniforms, flashing torches into the depths of their woods at their general direction threateningly.

"Who's in there?" One of them hollered into the woods. Fallen eaves cracked under the footsteps of the local policemen as they approached the broken electric fence. As Token had said, they had not dared to step foot into governments’s property. Officer Barbrady was amongst them; any South Park resident could immediately recognise his hoarse, muffled voice.

“Butters Stotch,” he yelled, waving his flashlight around cluelessly. “If that’s you over there, you’d better come out quick, now. Your folks are worried sick ‘bout you!”

"Shit!" Clyde whispered, gathering himself up and retreating to the back of the truck to hide. "We gotta get out of here, right now!"

"But we left our bikes out there!" Token said in equal panic.

Craig roughly remembered parking his bike against the fence behind a taller bush. As far as the intelligence of the South Park Police Force was concerned, they probably wouldn't pay any attention to three rusty old bikes in the corner.

“But he’s still lying there,” he said, pointing at the boy.

"We have to leave that kid," Clyde said. "Come on, Craig, time to bail. Maybe we can hide in the forest and wait until they’re all gone.”

“We have to take this kid with us.” Craig tore his eyes away from the boy and said to his friends, dead seriously.

Token and Clyde simultaneously turned their heads and looked at Craig in shock. It would had been a funny sight if they had not gotten themselves into the stickiest situation ever imaginable.

"What? Why?” Clyde retorted.

"Think about it," Craig said in a matter-of-fact tone, pointing his thumb at the boy. "We found an unconscious kid in our room who's clearly not from South Park, and he's also clearly beaten up really badly. How is it going to make us look if they find us here?"

Token nodded knowingly at Craig’s argument, seeming to agree with him. It took Clyde a few more seconds of pondering and frowning before his eyes widened in realisation. "Oh, they'll think -"

"We are the kidnappers." Craig said. "As far as the nutjobs in South Park are concerned, we are also automatically responsible for Butters's vanishing. The police will gladly use us as the scapegoat."

"So what the hell should we do?" Clyde exclaimed, and Token hushed him in panic, afraid to alarm the nearby policemen. "We can't get rid of him, and we can't call the police, so what do we do - keep him here?”

The three of them fell into silence, all lost in their own thoughts and trying to come up with possible solutions to their helpless case.

Craig looked at the stranger once more. He looked rather pathetic with bony arms of his, bare legs unprotected by the blood-stained hospital gown, and he fits perfectly in a pitiful picture. Craig almost felt sorry for him, and he never did feel sorry for anything, not even the time when he had been seven and accidentally broke the arm of Tricia’s favorite doll and caused her to cry like there was no tomorrow.

“Get in the back of the truck,” Craig said, being the first to leap onto the abandoned vehicle and stretching out his hands. “Pick the kid up and I’ll hide him in here.”

With Clyde lifting up the boy’s legs and Token hauling him upwards by his shoulders, they brought the boy into mid-air and Craig singlehandedly - and with total ease - took over the boy in his arms and laid him flat down on the truck. Without hesitation, both Clyde and Token made their ways onto the top and tried to stay low, sheltering themselves with the two feet tall camper shell.

They might as well had been lying down with a corpse; with Clyde whimpering something under his breath, something along the lines of _Please God Jesus whoever is listening I don’t want to go to jail_ and Token staying still with his eyes closed like the way his father had instructed him if a police tried to accuse him of a petty crime. Craig could feel the steady pulse of the stranger, sending a wave of heat through their tightly linked arms with no space left behind the military truck (if this had been a camping trip, a million jokes about Clyde’s comparatively higher weight would had already been made). The boy, despite having barely any warm clothes on him, felt strangely warm, almost like he had been sitting by a fireplace this whole time when he was lying on the cold, hard ground. Craig felt his own icy hands and held his breath when a flash of light shone across his face, almost reaching the tip of the truck and exposing them under their cover - 

After what felt like a decade, while only five minutes had passed in reality, the flashlights were finally switched off. Car engines were started and the police sirens became more and more distant, until it had disappeared in the night along with all the police on duty around U-Store It. Clyde let out a shaky breath and pushed himself upwards on his elbow, almost suffocating from the intense anxiousness from a minute ago.

“God,” he said, still slowly recovering. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack on the spot.”

Craig sat up and shot a glance towards the stranger, still unconscious and undisturbed by everything that was going on around him. He brushed off the decade-old dirt off himself, knowing that his mother was not going to be happy about completely ruining his new shirt, and jumped out from the truck.

“Get that kid out of the truck,” he told his friends.

 

***

 

Craig was, by no means, a troublemaker. He simply spent way less effort than other kids to cover up his own ass when he did get in trouble, because he didn't give a flying fuck how the crazy townspeople thought of him. He also knew that the adults in town usually disapprove of their children to hang out with him; it was just that Clyde’s dad was too drunk in Skeeter’s Bar to care, Token’s parents were always out of town going on business trips, too busy to notice what their son was up to nowadays. But they lived in a small, isolated town and words spread like wildfire, it was not particularly difficult to monitor what people saw you as.

On the exact contrary, he often went _out_ of his way to steer clear of trouble. And he had only really registered in his head that he had made a huge mistake when they arrived at his home at 10pm sharp, according to Token’s trusty and expensive digital watch. The boy they found in the woods was fairly light so it did not take him a lot of effort to carry him all the way back there, and luckily enough for them, the streets were as empty as it could be, with all the men out searching for the missing Butters Stotch and all the children (supposedly) sleeping soundly on their beds.

"We have to bring him to the basement," he lowered his voice and said. " _Very_. _Quietly_." He glanced at Clyde, who was pushing both of their bikes with great effort for trying to keep his balance, making sure that he had heard him.

Token opened the front door and cringed when it opened with a loud creak. All the lights were off in the house, with Laura and Tricia in their rooms and Thomas still out with the search party. They wiped their muddy shoes on the door mat before entering. Craig hauled the kid to the entrance of the basement and twisted the doorknob carefully, with Clyde and Token following closely behind and shutting the doors behind them. He walked down the stairs taking one step at a time, almost bumping the stranger’s head onto the handle on the way.

Letting the boy slump down on the spare couch which was usually used as a makeshift guest bed when relatives or friends come over, Craig let out a sigh of relief as the pressure on his back had been relived. Clyde switched on the light; the lightbulb flickered before brightening the room, allowing them to take a better look at the stranger.

He had rather delicate features, almost considered good looking in Park County High standards if it wasn't for the immensely dark circles under his eyes, blonde hair sticking out in every direction possible, and new wounds which covered his cheeks, most likely cut by branches when he was dragging himself out of the woods. He seems to be of similar age as them, if not, younger by a small fraction. Craig caught himself staring for a moment before Token broke the silence with a worried tone.

“So what are we gonna do with him?" he asked, eyeing at Craig expectantly, as if he had any idea on what was going on.

"Oh my god," Clyde started to pace around in panic. "Fuck, Jesus fucking Christ, we should've never listened to Cartman -"

“Calm down, Clyde.”

“You’re telling me to calm down?" Clyde was standing the furthest away from the stranger, maybe afraid of a sudden burst of attack. “For all we know, he might’ve escaped from - you know. _Those places_.”

“Is there anyway we could find out who he is exactly?” Token said, trying to be as level-headed as he was as usual.

“Beats me. Does he looks like he has a passport card on him?” Clyde said, his voice shrilly. “Craig, this was your fucking idea in the first place, so say something!

“Craig - ” Token also started.

“Can you two please shut up, I’m thinking.”

“There’s literally no room for thinking right now!”

“I know,” Craig snapped, visibly irritated and pacing back and forth in the basement. “I know. Just - something isn’t right.”

“Of course something isn't right,” Clyde said, his voicing hitching and flailing his arms out. “Of course it fucking isn’t! We picked up a total stranger from the woods and we can all get in huge trouble if anyone ever finds out - ”

"He can stay here," Craig cut him off abruptly. "He can stay on the couch. Nobody ever comes down here, anyway, my mom always makes me clean the basement because she's afraid there will be mice in here."

"Are there?" Clyde jumped at his words, looking around his feet nervously.

"Not that I'm aware of," Craig told him, shrugging. That certainly didn't ease his mind. "Here's the plan: once this kid is back on his feet, we make him knock on my door tomorrow morning and my mom will call the CPS, and someone else will take him away. And we'll never, ever talk about this again.”

There was a moment of silence after Craig threw his decision on the table. Token seemed bewildered by Craig’s words. “Are you really sure about this?”

“Yes,” Craig said sternly.

“I’ll be damned, Craig,” Clyde said. “Are you actually giving a shit about something now?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“It sounds kind of risky to me," Token muttered. Being the only black kid and the only considerably rich kid in town, ironically, he could afford the less to get in serious trouble. Craig could get away with misconduct once in a while, but hiding a stranger in the basement was definitely not something he could simply shrug off.

“Do we really have another choice, though?” Clyde said.

The three friends looked at each other, lost and undetermined, but none of them could come up with anything better at the moment.

"I'll see you guys at school," Token picked up his bag and headed towards the stairs, with Clyde hurriedly tagging along with him, both wanted out of the situation as soon as possible. "Good luck, Craig.”

Craig closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh when his friends left the basement, leaving him and the stranger alone in the dark room, regretting all the life choices he had made up until this point which ultimately led to this incident. This whole ordeal just reconfirmed, again, that anything to do with Stan and his associates was always a one-way-ticket to a quicksand. And he was standing right in the midst of it.

This was the polar opposite from nice and boring, and he sure as _fuck_ did not like it.

 

***

 

Craig soaked the wet cloth in the bucket of lukewarm water he fetched from the bathroom upstairs. He tried to be as gentle as possible when he wiped away the dirt on the boy's face. Beneath the dirt were long eyelashes, pale cheeks and bloodless lips. At first glance he looked like a dead body, and he certainly felt like one, too; with damp, cold skin and a barely sensible pulse.

He opened the first aid kit which he grabbed from the bathroom, and hoped that he knew what he was doing, because he did not pay any attention to the compulsory first-aid course they all had to take last year, right after someone he did not know nor cared passed out due to anemia. He had seen his mother do this a thousand times, applying gauzes and bandages and all, and he knew the disinfectant would only pain him for a second, like an injection. He dipped the cotton ball into the rubbing alcohol and placed it on the cuts on the boy's face; some of them were quite deep, and the boy frowned in his sleep from the sudden sting. After cleaning the wounds, Craig tore open the band-aids and stuck them on his face, also gently. One on the forehead and one on his left cheek.

He was not entirely sure why he was doing this, despite the fact his mother was going to pick up on something fishy if the boy had left blood stains on the couch and ruin the furniture. He glanced at the blue patient's gown the boy wore. It was stained with dirt and blood and grass as well (luckily the couch was brown in color, an ugly shade which Laura despised).

_Course I'm not going to change his clothes_ , he thought to himself. _Fuck this, I'm not some nurse at an elderly's home._ If words ever got out that Craig Tucker, the infamously uncaring and apathetic Craig Tucker, would help a stranger to clean and patch up his wounds in the dead of a winter night, like some kind of godamned good samaritan or some shit, god knew how he would be ridiculed at school tomorrow. As if anyone had ever taken Father Maxi’s sermons about good deeds seriously in this town.

He dumped the dirty cloth in the trash bin and stood up with the first-aid kit in his hand. Unfolding the quilt his grandma gave him last Christmas but he never made use of, he threw it over the boy's almost-lifeless body. His breath was brief and rapid in his deep sleep, and Craig decided he was done feeling sorry for people that night. So he left the boy on the couch, walked up the stairs, and locked the basement door firmly with the spare keys in the kitchen.

Glancing at the grandfather’s clock in the living room (ironically, it did belong to his grandfather before he passed away a decade ago), realizing that it was almost eleven and he was definitely in for trouble tomorrow morning, he trudged towards the staircase, avoiding the creaking spots on the wooden plates when he made his way to his room. He knew that he should take a shower after rummaging through mud and dirt in the Lost Forest, but every inch of his muscle was screaming at him to drag himself to bed and sleep until the school bus arrived.

He attempted to switch on his light, only to remember that it was burnt off, and struggled out of all of his clothes and slept dreamlessly through the night. 

 

***

 

“You’d better be awake or you’re going to miss the bus!”

Craig woke up in a start when he heard his mother knocking on his door, yelling at him to get dressed and grab some food to eat before school started. Maybe he did it all subconsciously last night during his sleep, or maybe he had started planning this the minute he brought the stranger back home. He laid still on the mattress, grabbing a handful of his blanket and covering himself up till his chin, coughing loud and violent enough for his mother to hear outside of the door.

“Craig? Are you okay?”

As he had expected, his mother immediately pushed the door open with a concerned frown on her face. It was rare that Craig had gotten sick, but whenever he did, it was going to last for at least a week before a full recovery.

“I - I’m not feeling too good,” Craig said with a purposefully weak voice, pulling his best acting and praying his mother would buy it. Laura reached out her hand and put it on his forehead, obviously sensing there was nothing wrong in particular. Luckily for Craig, he had a clean record of pretending to be sick because he usually just couldn't be bothered to do it. School was actually quite bearable when he did not give a shit about anything, anyway.

“Hold on a second, dear, I’ll get the thermometer,” she told him, and left the room promptly after.

Craig knew he had only about thirty seconds to execute his plan during the timespan when his mother went to collect the thermometer, which was always kept in the bottom drawer of the kitchen along with other medical supplies. He made sure the hallway was clear before dashing into the bathroom, grabbing the tooth mug and filling it with hot water from the tub. He made it back to his room with only seconds to spare, quickly hiding the mug beneath his bed and tucking himself in, hiding his rapid breathing behind the blanket when his mother returned to his room with the sterilized thermometer in her hands.

“Here you go,” she said, handing him the thermometer so he could put it in his mouth. “Stay still.”

Craig nodded obediently, hoping his mother did not realise how unnatural he was acting. “Mom?” he said.

“Yes?”

“Could you, uh, open the curtains for me, please?”

“Of course.”

Knowing his mother would be extra attentive to him whenever he had fallen sick, he quickly turned on his bed and dipped the thermometer into the mug of hot water, stirring it and immediately stuck it into his mouth, right before his mother opened the curtains and returned to check on him.

“Goodness me, a hundred and three degrees?” Laura said, taking the thermometer from her son and feeling his forehead again for confirmation. “I’ll call the school to let them know you’re sick. Do you want a glass of water, sweetheart?”

Craig tried not to feel too guilty when he peered through the window in his room, watching as his mom walked away in her work clothes and heading towards the only bank in South Park after fetching him some pills and a glass filled with warm water even he said he did not need them, making sure she had left something in the kitchen so he could eat something before taking the cold medicine. Once his mother turned to the alleyway leading to the main street and disappeared in his sight, he got off from his bed, put on some clothes, and headed downstairs, almost tripping over nothing on the way.

His stomach grumbled when he smelled toasts and scrambled eggs in the kitchen, knowing that he missed the opportunity of eating it when it was served fresh and hot half an hour ago. Tricia and his father were long gone from the kitchen counter, too. Making sure that the coast was clear, he took a deep breath and unlocked the door leading to the dark basement, praying that he did not actually welcomed a psychopath with opened arms inside of his house.

“Fuck!” he cursed under his breath when he touched the cold metal of the doorknob, being zapped by status electricity and he felt stupid for flinging his hand off the handle at once. It stung quite badly, and the pain lingered until he twisted it with his left hand instead to be on the safe side. The door swung open, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Ambling down the stairs and feeling against the wall until he could find the first light switch, he flicked it on and the whole basement lit up instantly, allowing him to see everything from the decade old cobwebs and dust, and cardboard boxes his parents never bothered to clear out since they had moved to South Park when he was only two years old. 

But the first thing he noticed was blood. There were only drops of it, fresh and stained the concrete ground in a shocking red. He looked up the spare couch and found the quilt being tossed aside right over one of the seats.

And the stranger was nowhere to be seen. At least that was what he thought before running downstairs, looking around the room until he found the boy curled up in the corner with arms around his knees. The blood came from his left ankle, which was scratched and wounded, most likely by spikes hidden in the forest. Craig had certainly failed to notice it last night.

“Hello?” Craig said. The boy flinched violently at his voice, when he did not sound particularly menacing with his monotone. He backed away even further to the wall, if that was even possible; his whole body was already pressed against the cold surface, and he was still trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. He was looking at Craig with nothing but fear, as Craig approached him slowly with hands in the air, showing the boy he was not a threat.

"Its okay," Craig assured the boy. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

He reminded Craig of Stripe in some way. When he had first brought the guinea pig home, it was so frightened that it refused to move an inch from the cage, not even daring to eat the food in front of it. It took Craig about three weeks to finally get the guinea pig to warm up to him, coaxing it out from the corner with food and friendly gestures. But he instantly remembered that he was dealing with a human being, a _kid_ much like himself, most likely battered and escaped from someplace unfriendly to him.

"It's okay," he repeated, not even knowing if the kid could fully understand him. He wouldn't stop fidgeting as Craig sat down in front of him, hiding his face in the crook of his arms.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Craig told him.

The boy glanced up at Craig. "You - you're not?" he asked with a shaky voice.

"I'm not," Craig promised.

The boy let his arms fall aside and now Craig could finally see him properly. He had green eyes, not the kind that was crystal clear and unstained. It was filled with fear and a dull, swampy greyness had contaminated them.

"What's your name?" Craig asked.

The boy shook his head.

"You don't have a name?"

He nodded.

“…Okay,” Craig said, thinking fast. "What do people call you, then?”

The boy looked perplexed and Craig wondered just how bad this kid had had it to not know his own name. Slowly and cautiously, the boy showed Craig his right wrist; his arm was so thin that blood veins could be seen on the scarred surface.

 

**T-020**

**STE/CO**

 

These were tattooed with bright red ink on his skin, right beneath his palm. It was so small that it was barely noticeable if the boy had not shown it to him.

"T-020?" Craig said. The only thing it mildly resembled in Craig’s mind was Star Wars droids, which was obviously not the case/

The boy nodded again in affirmation. "T-twenty," he stuttered. "The Doctor, he just called me Twenty.”

Craig had never known anyone with a number for a name; it was definitely strange, but the name could just be the least strange aspect of the boy, who simply appeared in South Park out of nowhere.

So many he _was_ an escapee from a psych hospital, after all.

"Okay," Craig said again, trying to be reasonable and not to make the boy self conscious, or freak out and try to kill him, or something. "I'm Craig. Craig Tucker."

"Craig," the boy repeated, seemingly fascinated by a name as common as Craig. "Tucker."

"Yeah, that's me," Craig said, feeling kind of awkward. “Um. Where did you come from, exactly?”

The boy stared at him blankly.

“Where are your parents?”

“I - ” the boy started, and swallowed hard before continuing, looking away from Craig, “I don’t have any.”

“Where do you live? You do live _somewhere_ , right?” To his knowledge, homeless people wore donated jackets and jeans that were not supposed to be ripped for fashion, not patient gowns that would never get them through the ruthless winter.

He did not receive any response this time. The boy looked lost while pondering for a moment, and fell silent eventually.

Craig resisted the urge to roll his eyes or rub his temples to show his frustration, like he would usually do to his friends. The only thing he wanted to do was to get this hot potato out of his hands, he might as well throw it away if that was the most convenient thing to do. Now that there were no police cars in sight, he could very easily walk the kid to the police station and leave him with someone who could actually help him instead. Or he could stick with his original plan and ask the kid to knock on a random house and have the adults call CPS for him.

“You know what,” he said finally. “Just - wait a second, don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.”

Just to be on the safe side, he locked the door again when he ran upstairs to get the first-aid kit and rummaged through his closet for the bunch of hand-me-down clothes one of his older cousins gave him. It was quite hilarious that he had already outgrown the clothes that were meant for his age, having to have a massive growth sprout that brought his height straight to the roof over a summer.

They were not exactly nice clothes, definitely weren’t nice enough to be part of the cool crowd in school, anyway; but they were clean and didn’t smell like dirty laundry, so that would do. He grabbed a flannel shirt, a pair of jeans and a jacket - you will always need one in South Park - and headed back to the basement within two minutes.

“This is going to hurt,” Craig warned the boy before he wiped the blood away on his ankle with rubbing alcohol, applying an extra large bandage which could cover the entire wound. The boy winced as Craig patched up the cut, and still seemingly afraid that Craig was going to hurt him somehow.

“I also, uh, got you some clothes, so you don’t have to wear that anymore,” Craig muttered, pointing at the pile of clothes he had left on the couch. “Go upstairs after you’re done.”

The boy, although still huddling himself in the corner in a terrified demeanor, nodded submissively and stood up, almost falling down in the process and Craig caught him right on the arm just in time.

_Zap!_

Craig drew his hands away the moment he got shocked the second time, this time with a more intense force of electricity and he winced from the sudden pain. The boy gasped and pulled his arm away the same time.

What was with all the static electricity around this morning?

Rubbing his zapped finger and looking at the boy with suspicion mixed with a tad of fascination, Craig decided to drop it. It was not like static electricity was anything unusual, anyway.

It took an extra minute for the stranger to finally appear at the door with the hand-me-down clothes. Craig took the patient gown in his hands, rolled it into a ball, and stuffed it right into the trash can. The boy seemed to be scared of just about everything - from creaking stairs and dust scattered around the air and old creepy dolls which Tricia did not play with anymore. He squinted his eyes when he got to the top of the staircase, seeing the natural sunlight shining through the kitchen slide door leading to the backyard.

“Are you hungry?” Craig asked when the boy paused in front of the kitchen entrance, looking at his breakfast longingly.

“Yes,” the boy said quietly, as if that was something to be ashamed of.

Craig did not know he was actually capable of being os nice to someone when he pulled out the stool beside the kitchen table and grabbed the plate covered with plastic wrap, setting it down and gesturing the boy to sit down. He would not die if he had to eat cereal for the second day in a row, but this kid just might at this rate.

The boy seemed perturbed when he saw the food on the plate and glanced at Craig nervously.

“Go on,” Craig told him. “Eat up.”

Eyeing Craig cautiously once last time, the boy unwrapped the plastic and picked up the toast, taking a small bite and after making sure it was not poisoned or drugged in any way, gobbled them all down in a few bites along with the egg on top. Craig watched him eat with mild amusement, wondering how long this boy had been starving to eat such a simple meal like he was digging into a feast.

“You done?”

The boy nodded gratefully. “Th-thank you,” he said with uncertainty, and his lips curled upwards to give Craig a small smile. Craig could not remember the last time he had been thanked so genuinely, but he tried to keep that out of his head.

“My mom’s shift ends at one,” he said, grabbing the empty plate and placing it in the sink, gesturing the boy to follow him to the front door. “So I gotta get you to the police before she gets home.”

To his surprise, the boy did not seem to loosen up upon hearing the word ‘police’. On the exact contrary, his eyes widened in horror and he jolted backwards from Craig, like he had just been slapped across the cheek and put on death sentence without warning.

“No,” he asserted, shaking his head and started to back away. He looked so frightened one would think Craig had a weapon of some sort in his hand to threaten the boy with. “Please, no - ”

“Look, kid, I don’t know who the hell you are, but the police might have a clue to help you, okay?” Craig said, with the reasoning tone he usually used when he was talking Clyde out of one of his crazy plans for an adventure. He sped walked to the front door and grabbed the doorknob out of instinct, about to push it open. To his surprise, the boy had suddenly worked up his nerve, and became as daring as to grab Craig’s arm with his bony fingers, almost knocking over Thomas’s uncompleted bottle ship placed on the coffee table. Strangely enough, his fingers felt - _warm_ , like a heater, like he had been sitting by the fireplace the whole time before he woke up. Which was entirely impossible, because they didn’t have a fireplace at their house, nor could they afford to keep the heating running all night.

“Please,” the boy pleaded, and he looked so desperate he was about to tear up. His fingers tightened around the fabric of Craig’s blue jacket as he spoke. “They - they are coming to get me.”

“…Who are ‘they’?”

“I can’t tell you!”

This was the first time the boy had actually spoken up, his voice raising in panic. He was clearly shaken up by Craig’s question, still clinging onto his arm and preventing him from opening the door.

“I’m just trying to help you, okay?” Craig pried his hands off and looked into his bloodshot eyes. “So let go of me, and go to the police so they can help you instead.”

He reached to his back and grabbed the doorknob despite the boy’s effort to keep him away from the door. And he felt the same warmth building beneath his fingers on the metal for a second before -

“Fucking hell!”

Craig almost knocked himself over when he loosened his grip on the handle. The boy had already retreated a few steps away from him, as if he had predicted the scene to happen. Craig panted in consternation when he turned his right palm over and looked. It was bright red, and burning in pain and he could not even touch it without flinching. It looked like the time Bradley Biggle got electrocuted from reaching out a fallen kite stuck on top of the utility pole.

“I’m - I’m sorry,” the boy cried in anguish. His whole body was trembling and almost doubled over when he ran towards Craig, seeing his bright red palms that were still stinging from the excessive amount of static electricity - or maybe it was not static electricity at all. Craig shifted his sight from his wound to the boy, who looked even shorter crouching down and shaking. “I don’t mean to hurt you, oh god, the Doctor said to _never_ hurt anyone!”

“What do you mean, you’re sorry?” he questioned. Maybe it came out a bit too harsh, because the boy literally flinched to his words, not even meeting Craig’s eyes.

“I can’t go outside, not with them out there,” he only told him faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait, did you do this to me?”

“They are coming to get me. I can _feel_ them.”


	4. Left In The Lurch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig gets shit from everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probs the final longish (5K+) chapter that I will be posting since holiday's ended and that means i gotta deal with university bullshit all over again; hopefully i won't give up on YET ANOTHER WIP i am sick and tired of my lack of commitment to things.

If someone else had been there in the room with them, they would undoubtedly think that Craig simply had a guest over, perhaps from the other side of the district, but most likely just another insignificant student of Park County High and violating the dress code by having hair too long. The boy - whose name Craig did not want to acknowledge because it was too weird to say aloud - appeared to be much healthier after brushing himself up. At least he didn’t look like he was dying anymore, so that was a start.

Craig did not know how to initiate a conversation; he never had to, because all his friends were blabbermouths. Well, to be fair, only Clyde was, but that was more than enough for one friendship group. He never had to talk much to his extended family because whenever they gathered they were either drinking or fighting or badmouthing about each other under the table.

Unfortunately for him, the boy was not exactly a gregarious person. So they sat in his room in silence, and Craig pet Stripe restlessly on his lab until it screeched and made him realize he was holding unto him too hard. Letting Stripe run free on his bed, he took a deep breath and caught the attention of the boy resting on his desk chair. He had a minor meltdown after the doorknob incident, but had eventually calmed down enough for Craig to sit him down. He had been watching Stripe wriggling in Craig’s hands the whole time, seemingly fascinated by his pet.

“So,” Craig said rather confrontationally, raising his palm up. The pain had faded but it was still noticeably red. “Did you…really do this?”

The boy visibly tensed up in a sudden, his hand shaking slightly when he raised his head to look at Craig, knowing that he had no way out of avoiding the question.

“Yes,” he replied weakly, clenching his fingers together.

“With…like, electricity?” Craig pursued. “So you’re like _The Flash_ , or something?”

“The…Flash?” the boy asked in confusion.

“Never mind,” Craig muttered. Right, this was exactly what he needed right now, a confirmation that he had apparently taken in a fucking _superhuman_ into his house, and said superhuman had now refused to leave due to known reasons.

The boy looked down on his feet again. The flannel shirt was too big for him and it slumped over his shoulders like a poncho, making him seem even thinner than he already was. Craig shifted his eyes towards the switch on his lamp, and he suddenly thought of something.

“Hey,” he said to the boy. “Can you make my ceiling light work again?”

The boy made an astonished expression upon the request. “Your ceiling light?”

“Yeah. The bulbs burned out two days ago and I still haven’t changed it,” Craig said, folding his arms and stepping aside as the boy stood up.

“I-I don’t know,” the boy admitted.

“If you really did do this to me,” Craig said, holding up his palm again. “Then I need solid proof.”

He felt like a total jackass for doing this. However, if this boy was _for real_ , and he wasn’t on some hidden camera show, he needed to know for sure and then work up a sensible plan of dealing with him before anyone finds out. No wonder he had flat out denied any information from Craig; wherever he came from, it must be some crazy ass institution that Craig wouldn’t want anything to do with in any way, shape or form.

The boy was now standing underneath the ceiling lightshade falteringly. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, like he was trying to focus. Raising a shaky hand towards the light, he looked pained before quickly withdrawing it again in a jittery manner.

Craig looked up and his mouth almost fell agape. The lightbulb was shining even brighter than before, even shadowing the sunlight coming through the windows. The boy stumbled backwards and fell back onto the chair with an abrupt spasm, holding his hair with his fingers digging into his hair like he was in great pain. He recovered briskly, however, getting back on his feet as soon as Craig sat back on his bed, still having a hard time to believe what he had seen.

As a science student, it was rather hard to deny what he had witnessed seconds ago. His principle was always seeing is believing, but he had already seen far enough to know this was no coincidence. The boy appeared to be quite afraid as he looked at Craig, still struggling to find the right words to say.

“That-” Craig finally blurted out. “Was pretty cool.”

“Cool?”

“It means impressive. That was impressive. Holy fucking shit.”

“It was?”

“Yeah, dude, I’ve never seen anyone who could do this before.”

The boy stared down on his fingers, like he was uncertain on how to respond to Craig’s compliment. “That was what the Doctor said, too,” he replied cautiously.

“The Doctor?” Craig asked. The boy nodded. “Okay, who exactly is this Doctor you keep mentioning?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said.

“Why are you hiding?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“And why exactly is that.”

“The Doctor said I couldn’t.”

“Well, is he here now?”

The boy looked around, as if to make sure there really was only him and Craig in the room. “No.”

“Then what he said doesn’t mean shit here, because this is my room and I make the rules,” Craig said. “So spill. I won’t tell anyone.”

Fidgeting with the old and faded fabric of his new shirt, the boy said in a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“‘kay, then,” Craig said dismissively, catching Stripe right before it ran off the bed and out of the door. “Suit yourself. I’m just trying to help.”

Craig stood up and walked across the room to Stripe’s cage, letting it crawl back inside and run off into the tubes. If he hadn’t turned around at the exact moment the boy spoke up, he would definitely miss it because his voice was almost inaudible.

“ _Bad people_.”

“What did you say?”

“Bad people,” the boy repeated, a bit louder this time. Just like Craig, he was obviously trying hard to phrase his sentence but nothing consistent could come out.

“You mean you’re running away from bad people?”

The boy nodded.

“I wanna know who are the bad people, that’s all I’m asking.”

Dodging Craig’s question again, the boy went back to fumbling with the last button on his shirt again. Craig knew that he would keep his mouth sealed beyond telling him that, so he gave up asking more questions.

“So when are you going to leave?” Craig asked instead.

“When you want me to.”

The boy spoke with so much sincerity Craig felt another pang of pity hitting him right in the head, and it hurt even worse than his hand. He knew basically nothing about this boy - apart from the fact he had superpowers, yes, but that was only a small fraction of what made up an actual person.

As he had thought earlier, strangers in South Park always stirred shit up; for this boy’s case, he was bringing _bad people_ to town, hunting for him no matter what it took. If the boy was telling the truth, perhaps they were somehow responsible for Butters’s disappearance, too.

“Fine,” Craig sighed, rolling his eyes and playing it off like he didn't care at all. “You can stay in the basement. For now.”

“R-really?” the boy exclaimed is disbelief, and Craig couldn’t help but feel mildly offended especially after all the hospitality he had shown him.

“Yeah, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s not like I have a choice either. I _promise_ you can stay.”

The boy smiled for the second time since he had woken up in the Tuckers’ house, his tensed up shoulders finally slumping. To Craig’s surprise, he held out his hand, palm facing upwards, and shoved it towards Craig’s direction. For a second he thought the boy was offering him a handshake.

“What?” Craig said.

“Your hand,” the boy said, sticking his hands out towards Craig again.

Craig gave him his right hand, placing it on his palm.

“No,” the boy told him sharply. “The other one.”

Feeling a burn of embarrassment flushing right from his cheeks to the back of his brain, Craig quickly pulled out his slightly electrocuted left hand and the boy grasped it without warning, but rather lightly without hurting him.

“Don’t move,” he instructed Craig. And Craig tried to stand as still as possible when the boy stroked his palm with his other index finger, pressing hardly onto Craig’s new wounds and brushing it right across where it hurt the most. Craig gritted his teeth and wanted to pull his hand back, but the boy looked at him and shook his head. “Don’t move,” the boy said again. “It won’t hurt. I _promise_.”

Having no grounds to negotiate, Craig closed his eyes and allowed the boy to continue whatever the fuck he was doing. He felt a strange sensation on his injured palm; it felt like dipping your hands into hot spring water, not like he had ever been to one, but he imagined it would be like this.

The boy lifted up his fingers and the sensation disappeared. Craig examined his palm after the boy had let him go and his mouth did fall agape this time around the moment he realized the wound had completely faded.

“How did you-”

The doorbell rang from downstairs, with the noise echoing through the whole house and the boy jumped in panic, immediately standing up as if he was preparing to make a run from danger the whole time he had been there.

Craig was also quick to react. He couldn’t care less about all the jittering and shaking, and grabbed the boy by his arm and dragged him out of the room and down the stairs. The boy must had thought that Craig was about to turn him in, seeing how assailing he was being on spur of the moment, and kept struggling to pull out his arm and step away from Craig.

“I didn’t call the police, I swear to god.” Using his physical advantage, Craig had yanked the boy all the way to the basement and refused to let him go until he had opened the door. “It’s probably just a mailman, just get in there and I’ll let you out as soon as they’re gone. Okay?”

The boy wanted to protest but Craig took the chance and shoved him inside of the basement. “Get in there or we both get fucked!” he urged, gesturing the boy to step into the dark. The boy was still puzzled by his request, frowning as he looked up at him. “I’ll get you out as soon as I can,” he added hastily.

The second the boy retreated to the room, Craig slammed the door shut, fumbling for the basement key attached to the ring. Once he heard a promising click, he stuffed the ring into his coat pocket which was luckily big enough to accommodate it.

Whoever was outside the door must had become rather impatient. The doorbell wouldn’t stop ringing every half a second and Craig sighed in agitation before opening the door. To his surprise, it was none other than Skeeter Tucker, his father’s younger brother, and the only one who lived in the same town.

“Uh - ”

“Hey there, son,” Skeeter said before Craig could even open his mouth. His breath already smelt like whiskey at noon, wearing only a sleazy wife beater and sandals. Craig often wondered why he never understood his daughter’s strong animosity towards him. “What are you doing here? Aren’t your supposed to be at school?”

“I’m sick,” Craig said, remembering just in time to cough after his statement.

“Is your mom home?” Skeeter questioned, not at all concerned by Craig’s answer, even if it was a lie.

“She doesn’t get off her shift until one.”

“Oh, shit. Almost forgot that she still works for that damn bank.” Craig was just about to shut the door, thinking Skeeter would leave and bother someone else for whatever he wanted, but his uncle remained on the front porch. “D’ya think you know where your dad’s drill is?”

The answer was yes. But Craig had a difficult time to admit that. Ever since his father gave up on his common interest with his brother of woodwork a few years back, and devoted himself into making model ships in glass bottles after work, he had put all the equipments into no other than the basement, right in one of the card boxes with ‘tools’ written on a side. He wanted to store them in the garage but there were already way too much junk to accommodate the heavy tools. And it wasn’t like he would be using them anymore, anyway.

“Well, do ya, kiddo?” Skeeter urged “I don’t have all day waitin’ around.”

“Um, yeah,” Craig replied, finding it much easier to lie in his uncle’s face. “It’s probably in the attic somewhere, but - ”

“Don’t try to fool me, son, I know damn well your dad keeps all his stuff down the basement.”

Skeeter squeezed past Craig and marched into the house without invitation, heading directly towards the basement door before Craig could say something to stop him. The cellar below Skeeter’s Bar had its fair share of mice, so it wasn’t like rodents could deter him from entering anywhere, either.

“Why’s the door locked?” Skeeter demanded, twisting the handle that would not budge with all his might. “Craig, go on and open the door for me.”

“I don’t have the key,” Craig lied again, shrugging.

“Sure you don’t.”

“But I really don’t.”

“You’d better not, or I’ll get you in serious trouble. You hear me?”

Skeeter stared him down in suspicion and Craig looked back at him with indifference, unafraid to look Skeeter in the eye in attempt to appear convincing. He knew clearly that his uncle was all talk and no walk; that was why his wife left him in the first place.

“I don’t have it,” he repeated. “My mom keeps it with the other spare keys. And I don’t know where she’d put them, either.”

Grunting in frustration, Skeeter rummaged through the storage space below the TV stand, the bookshelf, and all the drawers in the kitchen. Their house wasn’t exactly big so there weren’t a lot of spaces to hide things, and Skeeter seemed determined to get his drill before Laura comes back. After a good five minutes without any physical outcomes, he resorted to violence and tried to pull the doorknob as hard as possible to bust the door open.

“ _FUCK_!”

His reaction was comical when he obviously got zapped with static electricity, met by the same fate as Craig just an hour ago. The zap was so strong Craig could hear it bouncing off on Skeeter’s fingers, making him let go and step aside. Craig would had warned him about the potential danger if he wasn’t such a massive douchebag to everyone, so that would only happen in some alternative universe. He had to bite on his teeth to constrain himself from cracking a smile after witnessing the sight.

Skeeter flung his hand downwards like he had just been stung by a bee, hiding his embarrassment from the earlier outburst and clearing his throat. Craig’s fingers clenched onto the chain of keys inside of his coat pocket.

Just when Skeeter (fuelled with rage by the time he had regained his spirits) was about to confront Craig once more and interrogate him about the basement key, Craig heard the front door being opened once more and the muffled sound of heels rattling on the carpeted floor came walking towards them.

“Craig?” his mother demanded, frowning at him disapprovingly. “Just what do you think you’re doing, all dressed up and out of your bed?”

“I thought you wouldn’t be home until one,” Craig told her, trying not to sound too sheepish.

“I asked my manager to let me off half an hour earlier so I could check on you,” she raised an eyebrow at his panicky manner, and said, “Where are you going? Have you taken your pills yet?”

“Yeah, I was just - ” Craig paused, turning to Skeeter who was still lingering at the basement door, as if he was somehow going to magically open it without a key. “Answering the door. For Uncle Skeeter.”

He knew he had successfully directing Laura when she shifted her attention to their unexpected visitor. “Skeeter,” she said rather coldly when he saw her. “Can I help you with something?”

“Nothin’, really,” he said casually, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “Just wanna borrow Thomas’s drill.”

“Well, then it’s best if you’d wait ’til Thomas is home,” she replied without missing a beat. “He’ll be back at five.”

There was a strained moment of silence and Skeeter huffed in contempt, not making any effort to hide it. After his wife left him two years ago, and having to know the reason why, Laura had always stayed out of his way, and brushed off any gestures of trying to make peace with her. Much like her own son, she could hold a grudge forever if she intended to. After all, she was the one who insisted on not giving him a spare key to their house, and entrusted it to the Biggles next door instead, just because they were the geographically closest Jesus enthusiasts.

“Come on, Laura, it’s just a drill,” Skeeter said with a forced smile, like she was merely joking with him. “That’s all I need, a drill.”

“Thomas doesn’t like it when someone else touches his stuff,” Laura replied.

“He doesn’t even use those damn things anymore!”

“You just have to ask him yourself.”

Skeeter’s annoying simper fell immediately, replaced by a cold, hard stare. “I guess so,” he said, gnawing his tongue once (something Thomas also did whenever he was about to go off on someone).

When Skeeter walked pass him, Craig swore he heard his uncle tsking and cursing ‘ _bitch_ ’ under his breath. The same exchange between those two adults might as well had happened during every family gathering, ever. This was why he was already dreading over the upcoming Thanksgiving dinner a month in advance. Their last proper conversation sent Red crying and dashing out of their house after Laura argued with him about shortening opening hours and spending more time with her.

But whatever, that was one thing solved. He had the _worst_ coming after him.

“Craig Tucker,” Laura turned to him and snapped, and Craig cringed when he had heard his full name being called. “Don’t you have some explaining to do?”

“I was just opening the door for Skeeter,” Craig said.

“With all your clothes on?” she questioned, pointing at his attire. “I don’t think so.”

“Mom, I wouldn’t open the door _naked_.”

“Why are you wearing your jacket?”

“‘cause it’s cold outside and I already have one.”

Craig could tell that his mother wasn’t convinced at all. Mothers always come with their preinstalled lie detectors and no matter how good your excuse was, it was probably going to blow under pressure. But Craig wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Alright, then,” she said. “I’ll make you some chicken noodle soup - no, that is not an option,” she interrupted Craig right before he could express his hatred towards chicken noodle soup, made according to a specific recipe his grandma had passed down to his mother and it was basically a worm-eating simulation. “You better be in bed before I’m done!”

 

***

 

Craig took his temperature again right before dinner, which was tampered with in the first place but his mother looked relieved after seeing the tiny digital screen showing a lower number than the morning. “Well, that sure is a speedy recovery,” Laura said. Craig was glad that the change did not raise his mother’s suspicions again. But she still made him finish the rest of the chicken noodle soup left from lunch.

“What are you staring at?” Tricia asked him curiously after she had caught him glancing over to the basement for the fifth time. She turned her head to look at it for herself, but of course she saw nothing but the old, unkempt door.

“Nothing,” he told her.

“You keep looking at the basement.”

“I said, it’s nothing.”

“Tricia, don’t speak with food in your mouth,” Laura admonished. Tricia threw a dirty look at Craig as he shrugged at her.

“Mom, can Clyde and Token come over after dinner?” Craig grasped his opportunity and asked carefully.

Laura put her fork down and frowned. “Can’t it wait till tomorrow? You’re still sick.”

“I, um, feel a lot better,” Craig said. “After eating the chicken soup.”

“Is that so?”

“And we have this, science project thing, that we need to hand in next week,” Craig added, using his newfound ability of making up grounded lies to its extent. “It takes up twenty-five percent of our final grade. I don’t want to miss out because of today.”

“Just let the boy off the hook, Laura, he’s been stuck here the whole day doing nothin’,” Thomas chimed in, and never had Craig more appreciative of his father’s unsolicited comments over the table.

“Alright, then. I suppose it won’t hurt,” Laura finally decided.

“That’s not fair!” Tricia proclaimed. “You said Karen couldn’t come today.”

“That’s because she’d already been here yesterday and you have lots of work to catch up on. It’s only fair that your brother gets to invite his friends over, too.”

Tricia looked almost identical to her mother when she was upset. Pouting and sitting back to lean on her chair, she kept on looking daggers at Craig sulkily the whole time, until he had finally swallowed the last spoon of the awful soup, and went over to dial up the Donovans’ number on the phone.

“ _Next time you wanna tell me something, don't waste your phone bill. You live right next door_ ” was the first thing he heard when the other side of the line went through. Clyde was clearly pinching his nose to mimic Craig’s speech.

“That’s a terrible imitation of my voice,” Craig said.

“Whatever dude. Why weren’t you at school today?”

“Why are you even asking? Did you seriously forget what happened last night?”

“Oh-yeah, right,” Clyde did sound like he had already long forgotten about the incident. “Is he gone now?”

“No,” Craig replied, and before Clyde could say anything, he added, “Long story. Call Token and tell him to come over.”

“Wh-” 

“I’ll explain later. Just get your ass here and don’t ask questions.”

Five minutes later, Clyde and Token both showed up in front of his home. Clyde was carrying a huge binder as a prop according to Craig's instructions to make his lie more viable. It was filled with notes from last year that he earnestly copied from Craig, which didn't do him much help because he failed the exam anyway.

“What’s going on?” Clyde mouthed at Craig, and instantly grinned pithily at the sight of Mrs. Tucker who got the door for them.

"Good luck on your science project, boys!" Laura told them and returned a smile. She was one hell of a believer in the education system and the false hope that went along with it, and Craig knew that she would leave them alone in the basement without asking too many questions.

“Wait, we have a science project?” Token whispered, thoroughly confused but Craig gestured at him to keep quiet.

Making sure the coast was clear, Craig took out the key ring that he had kept well hidden form his mother. She obviously hadn’t realized it was missing yet, seeing how rarely she had made use of it. Even if she did, he doubt she would spend a whole lot of effort to go looking for it.

The lights were still flickering when they had arrived at the bottom of the stairs. The boy, sitting on the couch restlessly, was staring up at the light. It turned on and off just relentlessly following his hand's movements. At the sight of Clyde and Token, he immediately hid his arms and stuck it firmly against his back.

“It’s okay,” Craig said to him. “They’re with me.”

Clyde and Token were lost for words for a good few seconds, both trying to wrap their heads around that Craig Tucker, possibly the last person in town who would willing to do something as sketchy and dicey as this, was in fact doing the _most_ sketchy and dicey thing one could imagine.

"What the fuck?" Token blurted out, pointing at the boy, and he recoiled when he was unanticipatedly addressed. “What is he doing here?"

"It's-"

"You said you would handle it, so what the fuck, Craig?"

"Calm down, dude," Craig deadpanned. "Everything is under control.”

“Dude,” Token said, looking dead serious this time after getting hold of himself. “We have to take him to the police. What the hell were you thinking, keeping him here?”

“He has his reasons.”

“He has his reasons,” Token repeated. “He has his reasons. What kind of _fucking_ reason-”

“Hey,” Craig turned to the boy and adjured, “Show them what you can do.”

Panic flashed across the boy’s face when he glanced at Craig. While they were intensely arguing he had receded back to the corner, right beside the basement heater and clinging tightly onto the hem of his newly acquired shirt.

“They won’t tell anyone,” Craig assured him.

For a second Craig thought that the boy was done for; if Token hadn’t seen what he had earlier, being the vigilante he was he would no doubt call the police and have the boy taken away, so that he wouldn’t be in any way involved in any possible cases of deviance. Token raised his eyebrows when the boy decided that he would do nothing to defend himself.

“So?’ he said. “What’s he got to show?”

**_CRACK!_**

All the lights turned off abruptly, and back on again, only becoming so bright that they couldn’t even open their eyes. The lightbulb popped and shattered mid-air into countless of shards. Token’s jolted backwards instantly like he had touched fire, gasping and retreating to the bottom of the staircase, watching the boy doubling down in vain before collapsing onto the ground.

“Dude, what the fuck just happened?” Clyde screamed. He was standing in the midst of a million pieces of glass. Surprisingly, none of them had injured him. Instead they all laid perfectly around his feet, leaving him in a unorderly circle.

"Craig, is this a joke?” Token questioned, breathing rapidly from the shock.

"I never joke."

It was true. And everyone knew that. Craig was neither one to take a joke well, for the record, and he certainly didn't care enough for someone else's entertainment to make one himself. Technically speaking, it was quite impossible for a high school freshman to invent an invisible electrocution device to pull a prank, too. Despite the incredulity, they were both having a hard time not to believe what happened before their own eyes.

"So basically you're telling us that this kid right here," Clyde said, blinking slowly in utter bewilderment. "Is a superhuman?”

The boy had collected himself from the fall and stood back up on his feet, realizing that Clyde was actually directing the question at him. But he still said nothing.

"That's one way to put it, yes," Craig replied.

"Holy shit," Clyde gasped, his jaws dropping at the revelation. "That's so fucking cool!"

"No, Clyde, this is not cool," Token argued back. "What if someone else finds out about us keeping him here? Does going to jail sound cool to you?”

"Come on, Token. You gotta admit that move was _kinda_ cool.” Clyde was getting more excited as he stepped out of the glass circle carefully. “He was all like, BANG! And the lightbulb fucking blew up just like that! Damn, I wish I could do that to my sister.”

"Okay, fine, it is kinda cool," Token gave in, rolling his eyes. "But that only means we would getting more trouble for hiding him in Craig’s basement.”

"What's his name, anyway?” Clyde interrupted, and for the first time Craig was thankful that he did so he could dodge Token's bullets.

"He doesn't have one," Craig told him. "But he has a code name."

"Wow, a code name?"

The boy glanced up to look at Craig, who tried to nod at him reassuringly, before he pulled up his sleeves and showed the other two his blood red tattoo.

“Twenty?” Token said.

The boy nodded in affirmation.

“That’s an… interesting name,” Token commented.

"That's like the lamest code name ever, dude," Clyde said disappointedly, shaking his head with pity at the boy. "You need a new one."

The boy was eyeing at them with nothing but confusion, but at this point no one was paying attention to him.

"Clyde-"

"Oh, I got it!" Clyde clasped his hands together in triumph, which was also his default signal before making a bad decision. "From now on, my dude, your name is Tweek."

" _Tweek_?" Even Token now was distracted from their previous dispute. "What kind of weird ass name is that?”

"It fits him, cause he's shaking like a tweeker. Remember that documentary on junkies they showed us last year?” Clyde explained, as if this argument was totally justifiable. “Plus, it’s still a way better name than Twenty. Who even names people after numbers?”

"Clyde, if you ever have a baby, remind me to tell its mom to never let you name it."

"Why not?"

"Cause obviously you will name it 'weedman'!"

"So what about your new name?" Clyde's sudden question had taken the boy aback. "Do you like it?"

"He's not a dog, you know," Craig reminded him.

"Of course. If he was one I wouldn't go around and name him, would I? Everyone knows not to name strays.”

“Okay, hear me out, maybe he did come from a psych hospital,” Token insisted. “That would explain the tattoo on his wrist.”

“Yeah, but have you seen someone from a mental institution with superpowers?” Clyde argued.

“Gee, I don’t know, I haven’t ever met anyone from a mental institution, unlike you had during your stay.”

“Fuck off!”

The boy, on the other hand, was looking at them back and forth during their heated dispute, frowning slightly like he didn’t know what was going on.

“Don’t listen to Clyde,” Craig told him offhandedly. “He’s a brain cell killer.”

The boy’s frown became even deeper. “ _K-killer_?” he repeated in fear.

“No, I mean, not like an actual killer,” Craig explained. “He’s just-dumb.”

“Oh, so you’re not mute after all, huh?” Clyde interrupted. “I’m Clyde Donovan. Can you make another light bulb explode? Please?”

“And that’s Token Black,” Craig said, ignoring Clyde and pointing at Token, standing three feet away from all of them and still eyeing at the boy skeptically.

“Oh, hell no, Craig,” he told him expeditiously. “I’m not in on this.”

“It’s too late to say that, man,” Clyde snickered. “You saw everything, that makes you liaful-”

“Liable.”

“-Liable, that was what I said!”

“Anyway,” Craig said, brushing off the pointless exchange between his friends. “He can’t leave because, _apparently_ ,” he paused and cleared his throat, hoping this wouldn’t come out as too stupid to believe. “Someone out there is looking for him.”

“His parents?” Token suggested hopefully.

“He doesn’t have any.”

“Then who could it possibly be?”

“Bad people,” the boy insisted.

“Okay,” Token said. “What sort of bad people?”

“I can’t tell you,” he replied, as he had with Craig earlier.

“Craig, this is ridiculous. Who knows where he might had come from?”

“Dunno,” Craig answered, shrugging perfunctorily. “Probably some place that made him like…this.”

The four of them piped down all at once, with Token still contemplating over the boy’s possible lies and Clyde too excited about this new discovery to contribute anything meaningful. Craig noticed that the boy had started shaking and fidgeting all over again, most likely afraid that he would be extruded after tonight.

“Craig, you need to promise me, for real,” Token suddenly spoke up, his face solemn. “You can _never_ let anyone else find out about this. Ever.”

“I’m trying.”

“Why are you even helping him, anyway? Doesn’t this seem like a very Stan Marsh thing to do?’

“You know what _is_ a Stan Marsh thing to do?” Craig was beginning to fire up as he snapped. “Parading this boy around town and have him perform magic tricks so the four of them could make quick cash, and then take the bus straight to Denver to leave him on the streets after stirring shit up.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Clyde said after finally snapping out of his reverie.

“Dude, there’s no need to get all defensive on me,” Token said, with an equal amount of defensiveness in his tone. “All that I’m saying is, this is not a very _Craig Tucker_ thing to do, that’s all.”

“Yeah, maybe it isn’t,” Craig muttered, but no one had heard him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...what do you guys think about this story so far?


	5. A Body Has Been Discovered (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title suggests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am reallllllyyyyyyy busy now since the new semester has started and i have tons of school shit to do (i hate uni) so i can only manage to write half of the chapter and i have to post it before eventually giving up on writing.

 

 

It had been two days.

_Two long fucking days._

Craig had regrettably developed a habit of bringing food and water and clothes to the basement, avoiding carefully from surveillance so he wouldn't raise any suspicions. His mother did get a little worried about his sudden lost of appetite, but that didn't really matter.

Clyde was, in fact, insistent on the new and unimproved name he had unsolicitedly given the boy. Craig had reckoned he should be calling him _Tweek_ now, too, because Token and Clyde wouldn’t call him anything else but that. Clyde thought he was a genius or coming up with a name like that, and Token was just treating this whole matter as a joke. A joke that would hopefully be forgotten in time, as he had mentioned a few times during these few days. None of them had given much thought towards how the boy _himself_ actually felt about his new name, but he seemed quite agreeable with being referred as such.

During his brief stay in the Tucker residence Tweek seemed to have gotten healthier and his face wasn’t drained out of blood anymore. He was silent most of the time, and had silently refused to make anything explode or go off again no matter how many times Clyde had begged him to. Token, on the other hand, also wouldn’t stop urging to send Tweek to the local police station at any chance he could seize, and at the end giving up and turning a blind eye to Craig’s ludicrous decision.

Tweek wasn't exactly good company, given the fact that he never opened his mouth unless spoken to. Being a person of few words himself, Craig didn’t really try to strike up conversations with him. It wasn’t like he was willing to give any more information than he already had regarding his circumstances, either. But at the same time due to his quietness, Craig felt a bit more at ease about leaving him alone in the basement during school hours.

Halfway through English class, which was also their last period, they were sorted into groups of four by the teacher, and they were supposed to complete a couple of questions after discussing about some shit classic novel Craig never bothered to read past the first chapter. They moved chairs around and Bebe was too busy applying a second layer of eyeshadow on her lids to notice Clyde eyeing at her longingly from the other side of the room.

Craig knew he should feel lucky that at least Token was sitting in front of him, but he keptsighing and shaking his head disapprovingly instead of chatting to ease the boredom. Even if they were not directed to Craig explicitly, it was majorly pissing Craig off.

“Cut it out,” Craig told him bluntly.

“Cut what out?”

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t,” Token retorted.

_Click!_ Bebe shut her eyeshadow palette sharpishly, glancing over at the two boys sitting at her both sides, her eyebrows rising with mild interest. She wasn’t really one of their acquaintances, but she could not bear to let another subject of gossip slip out of her hands just like that.

Craig caught on Bebe eavesdropping casually so he lowered his voice. “Why are you looking at me like that.”

“I just can’t believe you sometimes, y’know?”

“What is this about?”

“Oh, now you are asking me what’s _what_ ,” Token said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper and Craig had to lean forward to hear him. “It’s been two days, Craig. Why aren’t you doing anything about him?”

“This is not the time-”

“No, it is,” Token snapped. “How long exactly are you going to keep him there?”

“Dude, stop being so paranoid for one minute, okay? Everything is fine.”

“We could all get in huge, serious shit because of him, don’t you get it?”

“I know.”

“Then why would’t you fucking listen to me?”

“I can’t kick him out and let him die on the streets,” Craig replied gingerly. “And…I still think there’s something weird behind all this.”

“Wait, do you actually plan to find out what’s really going on with that kid?”

Craig shrugged. “Why not.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Token closed his eyes briefly like he was in pain. “You call Stan and his friends dumb when they play detective in fourth grade, and now it’s suddenly _not_ dumb when you do it?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Craig said defensively. “I’m not playing fucking detective.”

“Yes, you are, dude!” Token insisted.

“I’m not!”

“What are you guys talking about?”

Craig and Token both tore their sight away from each other and glared at Annie Knitts, who so innocently and curiously asked them the question. She was also the only one in their group attempting to finish their group task before the bell rang.

“Nothing,” Craig told her.

“Who is ‘him’?”

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

She huffed at him with disdain at his surly response, and resumed writing.

“It’s _so_ unnecessary to be rude, Craig,” Bebe chipped in immediately, glaring at Craig with her eyeliner half done. He always wondered why Clyde had a thing for her condescending attitude. “She was just asking! No big deal.”

“Yeah, I know,” Craig told her.

“So, um, don’t you think you should apologize?”

“No.”

“You are fucking unbelievable,” she said, rolling her eyes. Her curled eyelashes were so long they could almost touch the skin below her eyebrows.

“Quit chattering, Barbara Stevens! You’ve got work to do!” Ms. Green shouted from the other side of the classroom. Bebe’s face grew even redder with anger and embarrassment. Then she spent the rest of the class writing furiously in her journal. To Craig’s delight, she didn’t try to lecture him on politeness again.

When the class was finally dismissed Token stuffed all his belongings in the backpack and walked out of the classroom before anyone else, instead of waiting for Clyde and Craig as usual (even if he wasn’t going to take the bus with them, he still walked them to the bus stop almost everyday). Craig didn't bother to address their earlier conflict either, and picked up his books and stationary as slow as he could to stall.

Clyde was utterly confused towards the situation. “Dude,” he said. “Where’s Token gone? I need to copy his math homework due tomorrow.”

“Don’t know,” Craig said, pushing his binder gratingly into his bag. “Don’t care.”

“Did you guys have a fight?”

“No. But Token was being a total bitch.”

He picked up his bag and walked out of the classroom, not even looking behind to see if Clyde could keep up with him.

 

***

 

It had been two days.

He had rarely seen sunlight in his days in the laboratory. Nor did he had a lot of companions, either. From the years of isolation he had learnt ways to not feel lonely while waiting for Craig to come home from school.

Tweek knew that he was not supposed to rummage through others’ belongings. It was the first rule in the laboratory; _no stealing._ Even laying the tip of a finger on the Doctor’s equipment was regarded as theft, and whoever broke the rule would be sent into solitary confinement for a whole day. The rule still applied even after the numbers before him had left, with only him remaining in the Doctor’s final subject in his last seminar. He was also aware of the necessity of gratefulness towards acts of kindness, as the Doctor had always emphasized, that he ought to be grateful to be offered a part in the Doctor’s greatest accomplishment, and to be the living proof of it at the same time. By the same logic, he should also be grateful towards Craig Tucker, who gave him a place to stay and kept him alive. Just like the Doctor would say if he ever had to see him again; he had betrayed someone’s kindness yet again.

Glancing at the alarm clock that Craig had moved downstairs from his bedroom, placed on the old coffee table to inform Tweek of the times it was safe to leave the basement when the house was vacant, he figured there would still be time before Craig came home to restore the basement to its original state, which was nonetheless a mess.

The first box he opened contained nothing but _pink_. A bright sparkly pink dress decorated with countless of fake jewels and glitter. It was brand new and kept neatly inside its plastic wrap, still sealed with the shop label sticker. He carefully tucked the dress inside of the box and moved it aside.

When he moved on to the next box right under the first, he gasped in shock when a tiny house spider crawled out from the cardboard, aimlessly making its way to another corner. The box contained old newspaper that had long turned yellow and crusty. He carefully took one out from the box and spread it open in the air. The massive amount of dust came flying out from the words made him flinch, coughing violently and waving the dust away from his face.

 

**“FOURTEEN YEAR OLD BOY GOES MISSING FIRST DAY OF SUMMER VACATION”**

 

\- was the shocking title in bold on the paper dated 30th June, 1969, approximately eighteen years ago. Most of the words below were either faded or scraped off, probably by the mice that might or might not still inhabited the basement. Shuddering at the thought of it, Tweek folded the paper as neatly as he could, grasping both ends of the paper and hoping he wouldn't tear it apart by accident.

“ _-when I die and they lay me to rest-_ ”

Tweek tensed up. The paper in his hands crumpled.

“ _Gonna go to the place that's the best-_ ”

He tried to comprehend the sudden noise, wondering if he had caused it, and with a thumping heartbeat he focused on the music, feeling the waves that ran through his veins like blood. He had a gut feeling that they were trying to show him something; something he didn't know, but something that might be important enough to make his power go off on its own. The last time it happened caused a power outage in the laboratory, and strangely enough the Doctor hadn’t gotten angry at him.

“- _prepare yourself you know it's a must-_ ”

The song was still going on and off as he strolled around the room, unable to locate the weakening music mixed with white noises. He could feel it growing stronger, the gut feeling, along with the volume. He tore open boxes after boxes of old clothes, broken equipments and photo albums. But there was nothing.

“ _-where you're gonna go when you die-_ ”

He closed his eyes and tried to focus despite his racing pulse, with a constant ringing in his head from the music. Darkness descended in front of his eyes before he saw the light. A small object glowing in the corner, giving off heat and almost draining every drop of his blood to the tip of his fingers, dragging him forward almost. Though still light-headed and vision blurred from the sight, he opened his eyes and paced towards the idle box located in the unnoticeable corner, right next to the heater.

Opening the box in fear, he almost smiled in relief when he saw something that was familiar; a radio, as he recalled. He was always asked to operate them under supervision. The music died down immediately when he picked the radio up, with only the white noises prevailed. It felt cold as a corpse in his hands, the age-old rust peeled off immediately and stained his hands. It was completely different from the one the Doctor had shown him, with only two round buttons on each sides and a few smaller ones in the middle. It was so small he could hold it in one palm, unlike the one the Doctor taught him how to use. The one he had used certainly had not played music, either; only foreign languages he could not understand and loud curses every now and then.

Raising his hand waveringly, he pushed down a button and held his breath, waiting for a sign, an omen, anything, to appear. The white noise continued, but gotten gradually louder as he lifted up his finger with a twitch.

" _Goin' up to the spirit in the sky -_ **Yates, the whole team is at Stark's Pond** _\- When I die and they lay me to rest_ "

Tweek had frozen up at the sudden outburst of the radio speakers. It was a man, speaking from the radio with a hoarse and tired voice.

" **Did you find anything? Over.** " There was another man's voice, a voice more stern and clear. Tweek grasped unto the radio so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.

" **Yes, sir, a dead body. Over.** "

" **Is it the Stotch boy? Over.** "

" **Uh, not exactly, sir...I think you'd better come and - Oh, shit, I think someone's pulling up by the road, someone's heading** -"

The voice was cut off abruptly by Tweek's brisk gasp at the trails of smoke coming out from the speakers. The radio was overheating so much it was burning up like a hot stove. He dropped it on the ground and it shattered into pieces. His hands were hot, but completely unwounded by the electricity leakage. After breaking apart, the radio had stopped giving out smoke and everything regressed into silence once again.

Tweek felt a shiver being sent down his spine and he collapsed on the ground involuntarily, finding it suddenly hard to breathe when the power withdrew from his limbs and came to ease. It had been ages since he had had an outburst like this, and the only time he had not been reprimanded for it. He took a shaky deep breath and stood up, glancing down on the mess he made, wondering if Craig would make him leave at once when he saw the broken radio tonight.

Craig. He almost burnt his hands off at the thought of him. It was 4:00pm. He would come running downstairs any minute now.

He needed to run away. But he couldn’t. He had to try and fix the radio before he saw it. He had to _pay_ for what he had done -

Any minute now -

“Tweek?”

Craig still had his school bag hanging off his shoulder. Maybe it was simply Tweek’s own imagination but Craig somehow looked even more displeased than usual. He strode down the stairs and glanced at Tweek’s panicky expression, and proceed to look down and saw the broken radio under his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Tweek blurted. “OhgodIamsosorry.” Craig didn’t think he had heard Tweek say so many words at the same time before.

“Dude, it’s okay,” Craig told him. “Almost everything in the basement is garbage that no one cares about, anyway.”

“ _Pleasedon’tmakemeleave!_ ”

“I’m not making you leave, so would you please calm the fu-calm down?”

For a moment Craig thought Tweek was hyperventilating. He was spurting words everywhere and looked as pale as the day he had found him in the forest. But he simply gulped and stared straight at Craig, calming himself down as Craig had told him to.

“I’ll clean this up,” Craig said with a sigh. Before he could turn and leave, he felt Tweek’s bony, heated fingers grasping his wrist, tight enough to make him halt his footsteps.

“ _Thepondtheyareinthepondrightnow_ ,” his fingers tightened around Craig’s wrist as he said in the midst of his hysteria.

“What?”

“The _pond_!” Tweek exclaimed. “Stark’s Pond!”

“Okay-but what about Stark’s Pond?”

“A dead body,” Tweek said, finally slowing down so Craig could hear him. “They found a dead body.”

“Who.”

Tweek still hadn’t let go of his wrist. He seemed rather conflicted and wouldn't stop twitching while searing for words to reply. “Yates,” he finally blurted out.

“Sergeant Yates?”

Tweek nodded keenly.

“Um. So?”

“We need to go there,” Tweek said with a barely audible voice.

“Go to the Pond?”

“I think the Doctor’s here.”

“Dude, I thought you were running _away_ from this Doctor guy.”

“He is going to hurt someone,” Tweek muttered, but Craig brushed it off.

“And how did you even know the police found a dead body at the Pond? Did you leave the house?”

Tweek pointed at the broken radio. “I-heard them,” he said gravely. “On the radio.”

“You,” Craig said. “Heard the police talking.”

“Yes.”

“On my dad’s old, broken Robert’s radio.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t get it, dude,” Craig said.

“I heard them,” Tweek repeated, this time with more determination in his tone “They found a dead body at Stark’s Pond. I heard them.”

“But what’s that got to do with _us_?”

Tweek tugged his hair harshly and closed his eyes, like he was afraid that Craig might hurt him. “Agh! I can’t tell you!”

“Oh, right, you can’t fucking tell me. And you still expect me to go the extra fucking mile to help you. That sounds really fair.”

Craig was equally as taken aback as Tweek after he had finished. He had rarely lost his temper, mostly because nothing he was actually concerned about was overwhelming enough to make him feel anything, let alone something as strong as anger.

“Please, Craig,” Tweek said, his voice soft and quivering, but had managed to slow down in order for Craig to hear him more clearly. “You have to believe me.”

Craig felt like he owed Token an apology, because he was fucking right all along. Craig shouldn't had gotten himself into - whatever this was. Craig shouldn't had invited a stranger into his house. Craig shouldn't had gone all the way to help this kid with whatever bizarre plan he had in mind. Token was right from the start, and he hated to admit that. All in all, Craig still didn’t know what his real fucking deal was. 

He sighed and leaned his head backwards dismissively. Tweek flinched at his sudden movements.

“Okay,” Craig said calmly, instead of flipping the shivering boy off. “Okay. Fine. I’ll take you to the goddamned pond.”

 


	6. A Body Has Been Discovered (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh im so sorry for keeping you waiting (if anyone is waiting at all, that is). ive been really busy the past month with university bullshit and i finally got to finish the rest of chapter 5!!! hope you'll enjoy reading it. kudos and comments will be greatly appreciated <3

The Doctor’s Assistant was a honorable title; even when neither the person in charge himself nor the institution he had built was worthy of a honorable mention in any way, being the second executive in line had still given him nothing but wealth. 

He was humming along with the radio, now looping the same sequence of 60s songs over and over, but he was not tired of them. Not at all when he was busy reminiscing of his life in the town of South Park, where he had met his wife, God bless her soul, and opened his first short-lived business. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of _Spirit In The Sky_ , nearly making the wrong turn and missed the only route to the more rural part of Colorado.

The bag was rattling restlessly in the back seat, as if a reminder that he had work to do, and that the Doctor didn’t send him to reconnect with his memories, nor the people involved in such memories. He reached over to the dashboard and switched on the radio, indulging himself in the music and running over the script the Doctor had carefully planned for him, enough to make an esteemed police offer quiver at his presence.

He was used to doing all the dirty work. Drugs, frauds, bribes, you name it. And all the effort had left him with a wallet full of cash and a nice suburban house, and his wife Helen preparing a hot dinner for him every night he returned. Couldn’t say the trouble wasn’t worth it, he thought to himself, steering the wheel to make a U-turn once he had passed the sign which read **SOUTH PARK**.

After parking the car aside on the road leading to Stark’s Pond, he took out the car keys and opened the door, breathing in the breezy fresh air mixed with the stench of a long rotten corpse and utter greed. Noticing the song was still playing in the background, he reached over to switch it off, not forgetting the slip the velvet bag into the pocket of his coat too heavy for his taste.

The police had already gathered in the Pond just like he had requested. Some were immediately alarmed by his presence. One even picked up their radio, most likely informing that an untimely intruder had arrived at the scene. He pushed the brim of his hat down, casting a shadow on his face.

“Hello, officers,” he greeted the policemen with a brief smile. “I’m looking for Sergeant Yates. I’ve come to collect the body.”

 

***

 

“Mom,” Craig said, leaning on the kitchen table to make way for his mother holding a platter of french fries in her hands. She almost dropped it at the sight of him in comical shock.

“Craig, you scared the living hell out of me!” she exclaimed. Craig tried to not roll his eyes at how dramatic she was being. “Where have you been all afternoon?”

“The basement,” he replied promptly. “I’m going out.”

“What? Where are you going? Dinner’s almost ready,” she frowned at him and asked.

“Project stuff,” he said. She didn’t seem convinced at all.

“Craig,” she said, her tone suddenly softening, which also wasn’t a good sign. “If there’s anything you want to tell me about-”

“Mom, I’m okay,” Craig cut her off. Normally he would had earned himself a glare for doing that, but his mother just eyed him with concern.

“Are you sure?” Laura said, trying to extract any signs of distraught or whatnot from his son’s usual demeanour. “I hardly see you around the house these few days.”

“I’m busy,” he said, adding, “With the science project.”

“Hm,” she said.

“I’m _just_ going over to Token’s to pick up some material that we need, mom. No big deal.”

Sighing in defeat, Laura finally set down the platter on the table, taking off the oven mitt on her hands. “Fine. But be back before eight, okay? And stay safe.”

“This is South Park,” Craig reminded her flatly. “It’s safe everywhere.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re right,” she said dishearteningly. “Because they still haven’t found Linda’s boy.”

Leaving his mother to fret over the Stotch’s loss, he slipped through the kitchen door and entered the living room. To his annoyance, his sister was right there, watching the news with Thomas on the couch.

“Where are you going?” she asked. Thomas didn’t even look away from the television.

“Token’s.”

“Why?”

“Get off my ass, dude.”

“Dad!’ she hollered immediately, looking over to their disinterested father, eyes fully glued to the screen. “Craig is being mean to me!”

“Leave your brother be, Trisha,” Thomas said offhandedly, too tired to deal with his children’s argument.

Craig walked out of the door before he could hear any more of his sister’s endless complaint, which often resulted in their father sending her up to her room so he could watch football matches in absolute peace. Trisha thought everything was unfair, mostly because his parents were more tolerant with him going and coming whenever he wanted to, but she couldn’t have the privileged “just because I am a girl,” she had grumbled for countless of times.

He kicked off the brake of his bike leaning on the garage door, moving it carefully before walking around the house to where the basement windows were located. They had not been opened in ages, and was fully covered with dust that even sunlight could not get through the scratched surface.

As he had instructed, Tweek had managed to balance himself on the washing machine, his hands holding onto the window frame and Craig knocked three times on the glass, signalling that it was now safe for him to climb out. With a tiny ‘click’, Tweek unlocked the windows and pushed himself upwards, until his upper torso had reached the grass growing wild on the Tucker’s backyard. Craig yanked on his hands to pull him out from the basement. When Tweek was finally standing on his feet again, Craig already had second thoughts about going to the Pond that night.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Craig said. “Why exactly are we going to the pond?”

Tweek gnawed on his lower lip for seconds before opening his mouth, but Craig already knew what he was going to say. “You know what, forget it,” he said before Tweek could reply. Picking up the helmet and tossing it at Tweek. He barely caught it in time with a jolt, looking at Craig surprisedly. "Hop on.”

He seemed confused, peering at Craig who had already sat on the saddle. "Where?"

Craig pointed at the passenger’s saddle behind him. "Where do you think?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Tweek’s mouth fell agape in hesitation, so he added with another sigh. "Come on, the pond is like twenty minutes' walk away from here."

Even a task as simple as lifting a leg across the bike was a foreign concept to Tweek. He nervously clung on to Craig's shoulders after doing so, steadying his feet against Craig's which had already taken up most of the paddle. Possibly afraid of offending the other, Tweek quickly pulled his hands away from Craig's shoulders and shifted them onto the back of his sweater, barely holding the fabric in his fingers.

Riding his bike with extra burden had been easier than he had thought. Or maybe it was because Tweek was just a lot lighter than he had imagined initially. He had to find his balance like a first learner, but eventually found a steady pace. Grasping on the handle firmly and trying to ignore the heat coming from his back, Craig zipped up his jacket and started riding down the road.

Stepping on the pedal hardly, he steered his bike to the right and taking the shortcut to Stark’s Pond with Tweek grasping unto his sweater like he was a lifebuoy.

The streets were dead. Dim lights from the households down the road rushed past them like a marquee. As the night sky had draped over the quite mountain town, little did the people know they were leaving a dark, sinister trail behind them.

 

***

 

Craig had never given anyone a ride on his bike before. Not after the only time when he had been eight and Trisha had been almost six. He had just dropped his training wheels and Trisha made him give her a ride on his new bike on its virgin voyage. They both ended up getting stitches after Craig had crashed into a neighbor’s post box. The scar on his knees was still rather ghastly even after six whole years.

Tweek, again, did not speak a word as they rode down the hill and Craig had not stood on the pedals this time around, afraid that history would repeat if he did. The bike wobbled dangerously when they hit a shallow speed bump, causing Tweek to fall forwards and crashing on his back.

“Careful.” Craig didn’t know why he said that, when he was the one who was supposed to be more careful. Tweek didn’t say anything and pulled himself backwards, positioning himself as far away as possible from Craig.

He heard police sirens. Coming from straight down the road and ringing against his ears like an alarm clock. The flashing lights had broken the peace of the night and Craig was surprised that it didn’t wake up the entire neighborhood, seeing how almost every patrol car was up and running in the same place at the same time. He gestured at Tweek to keep quiet (which was, in all honesty completely unnecessary) and pulled on the brakes about ten feet away from the entrance of Stark’s Pond. He pushed the bike in between trees and laid it down with the fallen leaves for camouflage.

“Get off,” he said. “We gotta walk from here.”

The sirens had stopped after a few seconds. No matter coincidental or not, it had not made Craig turn around, pick up the bike, and leave all the mess behind him like nothing had ever happened. This would probably be what Token suggested if he was here, he thought to himself grimly.

Pulling Tweek over to a side and crawling through the bushes planted beside the fences enclosing the pond, they managed to pry open the branches and pricks to reveal a heated exchange between Sergeant Yates and a stranger - just as Tweek had told him - happening right under the slope where they were hiding. 

It was a man - it should be with an attire including a black trench coat, or it could be brown, or any other color, really. Craig couldn't be entirely sure without any of the street lamps on. The man was also wearing a rather unfashionable fedora. The sound of his shoes hitting the ground was solid and heavy, and under his coat he was carrying something that was slowing down his pace.

“Is that the doctor?” Craig asked, pointing at the stranger.

Tweek simply shook his head slightly, and blatantly ignored his question and focusing on the scene.

The man paused in front of sergeant Yates abruptly, drawing his hands out from his pocket. “Have you completed your task, Sergeant Yates?” he asked coldly. Even when he was maybe a whole feet shorter than the officer, he somehow still managed to appear menacing. Harrison Yates imperceptibly took a step backwards at his inquiry.

"No-I mean, yes, we have, sir. Most of it.” Yates cleared his throat several times after his statement, shifting on one foot to another.

“Did you, or did you not?” the man demanded.

“We did,” Yates repeated with a gulp. Craig wondered how even did this man get appointed as a sergeant in the first place, when he could not even look at someone a whole feet shorter than him straight in the eye. “It took more time than I thought, but-”

The man sneered. “Well, where is it, then?”

“We put it in the back of the trunk,” Yates replied quickly. “Do you want me to - ”

“I don’t have all the time in the world, Yates,” the man warned him.

“Of course, sir, this way.”

Craig nudged at Tweek. “Is this what you're trying to show me?” he asked.

Tweek nodded quietly, not even shifting his gaze from the rest of the policemen surrounding the pond. They were all engaged in a heated but quiet argument about something over there by the bank, too preoccupied to notice anything out of the ordinary, let alone two teenagers spying on them in the bushes. Yates and the trench coat man, on the other hand, was walking towards the other side of the road where a police car was parked right on top of their hiding location.

Craig knew that he wasn’t going to get Tweek’s full attention so he gave up on asking questions. Squinting his eyes and peering over the frail, brown leaves left in the bush, he saw Yates opening the trunk of the police car with the aid of the tail lights. The man stood over the car and looked inside for a few seconds before Yates closed it gently. For some reason, the man did not seem to show any interest in retrieving whatever that was inside of the trunk, and made his way down the edge of the pond again, with Yates hurriedly following behind him like a well-trained dog.

“Block off the area,” Craig could faintly hear the man command. “Don’t let anyone near the pond without my orders.”

“But sir,” Yates said, his tone almost desperate. “I don’t think I have the authority-”

“Do I need to repeat myself, Yates?”

“Sir-”

“One mistake,” the man said, sticking out a finger and shoving it into Yates’s face. “And the deal is off.”

“Wh-what about the,” Yates immediately lowered his voice after being flashed a glare by the man. “The _body_ , sir?”

“Bury it, burn it, I don’t care,” the man said. “You’re the one in charge of making up a story, Yates, not me.”

“Yes, of course, sir, I understand,” Yates’s voice trailed off and he rubbed his fingers together like he was full of anticipation. “And, um, about the initial payment-”

“Don’t worry, Sergeant. We always keep our promises abidingly.” The man tucked his gloved hand into one of the pockets of his coat and took a small sack out. Craig’s eyes widened in bewilderment when the man emptied the objects from the sack, letting them all fall unto the damp grass beneath their shoes.

“ _Abiding_ ,” the man stressed, and Craig could almost see a dangerous smile emerging from the shade under the fedora. “Just like the good citizens we are with laws. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

He had not received any reply, because Yates was busy gawking at the ground. They were _shining_. The pieces that the man had dropped sprinkled on the grass without making a sound as they landed on the soft surface, but even when they submerged into the grass Craig could still see them shining so brightly like his mother’s treasured silverwares.

Yates’s had managed to contain an excited gasp, afraid of drawing the attention of his subordinates, and knelt down on the grass to scoop up as much of the shiny pieces as possible and enfolding them all into the inner pockets of his jacket. He quickly gathered all of the pieces and carried them away, walking hastily towards his patrol car without being noticed. The man simply dropped the empty sack on the ground, standing with his arms crossed when Yates busied himself with his payment.

“Are you happy with the payment?”

“Yes, sir, this is so very generous of you-”

“Thank the Doctor, not me,” the man simply maintained. “I should be going now. Keep up the good work, officer; I will be in town sometime next week to give you the rest.”

Craig only had three seconds to quickly dodge aside when the man started to walk away to the other side of the road, heading straight towards where he and Tweek was. Tweek had let out a half-gasp before Craig covered his mouth with one of his hand, using the other one to pin him down so they would be out of sight. Luckily the man had not bothered to look downwards. A few moments after, the sound of engine starting could be heard and the man swiftly drove off into the edge of the town.

“Right, boys,” Sergeant Yates called out to his subordinates after concealing all traces of his suspicious behavior. “Time to hit the road; wouldn’t want to keep your wives waiting too long.”

“But what about the body?” one of the men asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yates said, brushing him off with a wave of his hand. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“But sir-”

“Damn it, Peterson, can you just do one thing, for once, without asking questions?”

Clearly taken aback by his supervisor’s atrocious attitude, the diligent officer shut his mouth obediently. With the rest of his colleagues they drove off in another patrol car, leaving Sergeant Yates to his own devices on the bank of the pond.

Realizing that he was still pinning Tweek down on the ground, Craig instantly propped himself up from the side and sat up, brushing off all the dirt and grass he had gotten all over his sleeves. Tweek seemed flushed after the shock but pushed himself up along with Craig, clenching unto the thin branches in the bush to take a better look at Sergeant Yates.

What Craig hadn’t expected was that he started snickering to himself. And the snicker sound erupted into laughter. Sergeant Yates, the respectable police officer, a notable cat rescuer and resolver of neighborhood-conflicts, holding an armful of bribes, so heavy it was almost weighing him down. He muttered something inaudible in distance and took a deep breath, regaining his posture and cooling off before returning to his own patrol car.

Once the coast was clear, Craig stepped out of the bush and picked out all the twigs and leaves that were stuck in his hair, regretting that he had not brought his hat along. Tweek was now looking equally as scruffy as the day Craig and his friends had found him in the woods, with both his face and clothes stained with dirt. But at least he wasn’t bleeding anywhere this time around.

“Do you know what the man is?” Craig questioned.

Tweek shook his head. “Not the Doctor,” he said diffidently.

“For the record, do you actually know anyone who’s _not_ the Doctor?”

Tweek just stared at him blankly, like he could not even comprehend the simple question, so Craig decided not to press on.

Cautiously not to slip on the damp grass, Craig marched towards where the Sergeant and the strange man was standing, with Tweek following hesitantly behind him, almost tripping over a rock and falling flat on the ground.

There was one single bench standing against the edge of the pond, carved with numerous initials of people who had already gotten divorced years ago. There weren’t any couples making out anywhere in sight, either. Nothing seemed to be unusual just from the plain sight of it.

And then something in the grass caught his eyes when Tweek had finally caught up with him. He knelt down and rummaged through the untrimmed grass, finally feeling something solid and cold against his palms.

He could see better, now that his eyed had adjusted to the environment. Craig held the small object in front of his eyes for closer inspection. It was tiny but weighted as much as a brick.

And it was shining like all the stars combined in the clear night sky.

“Gold,” Craig said. “It’s gold.”

Right before he could put the piece into his pocket, Tweek let out a small, panicky shriek and snatched it from his hands when he had noticed what Craig was doing.

“No!” he shrilled.

“Wh-”

Before Craig could say anything to stop him, Tweek dashed towards the brink of the pond and for a second Craig thought he was going to jump in. But of course he didn’t. He simply tossed the gold piece into the middle of the pond with all his might like it was worth nothing, so far away that Craig couldn’t even see where it had sunken in the contaminated water.

“Dude, why the fuck did you do that?” he exclaimed, horrified by what Tweek had just done, even more than being stung by his static electricity. He tried to grab the gold pieces back but Tweek stumbled backwards, making his hand out of reach.

“Don’t take them,” Tweek told him stiffly. He was shaking all over again, tangling his fingers growing red from the cold together and breathing rapidly.

“This thing could pay off the rest of my parents’ entire mortgage!”

“It’s dangerous!”

“How is it even dangerous? The man just fucking dropped it here!”

“It is,” Tweek said again, grasping the remaining of the gold pieces in his fist tightly, steering clear out of Craig’s way. “You can’t have them, Craig!” It seemed like Tweek had used up all the courage he had remaining to say these words aloud once again.

A fuse somewhere in Craig’s brain had burnt out and he closed his eyes before bending down, picking up another golden piece left on the grass and raising it mid-air at Tweek threateningly. “If you keep that shit up and don’t tell me what in hell is going on,” he said. “I’m going to bring this to the pawn shop right now. And I mean it.”

Watching Tweek’s face fall in horror had not been a pretty sight; his cheeks had gotten even paler and for a second Craig thought his lips were turning purple as he spoke.

“Okay,” he gave in, looking down at his feet, fidgeting the hem of his shirt nervously. “Please-just give me the gold.”

A rush of remorse and pity had rushed into Craig’s mind again when he saw the boy clearly in some kind of pain. “Alright,” he finally said, handing the gold piece to Tweek, wondering why getting rid of them was so important to him. Tweek’s fingers were ice cold now, the heat that had formed on every inch of his skin vanished without a trace.

Watching Tweek tossing literal bits of cash into the pond one by one had been physically painful. Craig looked away and tried not to think about the possibility of going back in the morning to retrieve them. But again, the police did find a dead body in the pond, so that definitely did not sound like a good idea given the dire circumstances.

“Done?” he demanded.

Tweek nodded meekly.

Craig crossed his arms. “I’m still waiting for an explanation, y’know.”

Knowing there was not a morally just escape to a promise made merely five minutes ago, Tweek looked up and met Craig’s eyes, and Craig tried not to look away.

“There are monsters,” Tweek said quietly. “Craig, we need to go, _now_.”

“I’m not going anywhere until - ”

“ _They are coming to get us!_ ”

There were not any street lamps that were on surrounding the pond, but somehow the environment had gotten even darker when Tweek’s eyes widened in horror, jolting backwards and for a second Craig thought he was going to fall into the pond along with all the gold pieces.

“What is wrong with you?”

“ _Monsters!_ ” Tweek gasped again, choking in between rapid breaths and pointing at something that Craig could not see.

As if to prove his point, Craig heard a soft, yet impending growl behind them. 

There was something behind him, breathing a toxic odour against his sweating neck, he could sense a slimy texture starting to form on his back, dripping on the floor as he froze, too afraid to look behind him and see what was about to kill him.

**Author's Note:**

> I am @sausepark on tumblr I desperately need friends from this fandom and im too shy to initiate a conversation please talk to me :(


End file.
